Returning From The Dead
by Elf Eye
Summary: Another in "The Nameless One" series. Set after "Revenge."
1. The Return Of A King

**She's baa-ack!**

**Here is the first chapter of the promised tale incorporating Thranduil's point of view.  It also reintroduces Tawarmaenas, Laiqua's cousin, who played a role in the battle for Dol Guldur.  Anomen will also be in the tale, although not in this first chapter.  Basically, I will try to set up the conditions necessary for a successful reunion between Thranduil and Legolas.**

**For people who are just joining us, Legolas = Laiqua = Anomen = Durrandîr.  (He has a few other names, but they won't figure in this story!)  These are all names for the Prince of Mirkwood, who has run away from Thranduil and has been hiding in Rivendell.  If you click above on my penname, Elf Eye, you will be taken to a list of the entire series.  If you want to get a sense of the overall context, you may want to start with "The Nameless One."**

Thanks to the following for their responses to "Dining Out": _Jebb__, farflung, dragonfly, MoroTheWolfGod, elvendancer, Kitsune, ky, Konzen, Karri, Joee, and _Autore_.  I'm a little backed-up, workwise, so I'm afraid I won't type individual responses to you this time, but I will try to next time._

            Tawarmaenas was asleep at the King's table.

            This was not the first time that a young Elf had fallen asleep at Thranduil's board.  Thranduil smiled a little as he remembered a small elfling, worn out from horseback riding and archery and sword exercises, who had long ago nodded off in the midst of an evening meal.  Then he flinched as he remembered how he had glared at the elfling's tutor, causing that ancient Elf to anxiously, and none too gently, shake the elfling awake.  He remembered how the elfling, awoken so abruptly, had nervously looked toward the King, knowing full well that he had once again offended the monarch.  And he remembered how that elfling had at length taken to avoid the dining hall altogether, so many times had he fallen under the angry eye of his monarch.

            Tawarmaenas' tutor, that same ancient Elf, now noticed that King Thranduil was gazing at his current charge, and he reached out his hand to grab hold of the young Elf's shoulder.  To the tutor's surprise, however, Thranduil shook his head.

            "Leave him, Master Tutor.  From what his masters have lately told me, he has been working very hard, and he deserves to be allowed to steal a few moments of rest."

            The tutor looked scandalized, and it crossed Thranduil's mind that perhaps the venerable teacher could himself use a little rest—say, several millennia's worth.  Mayhap it was time to retire him with a generous pension.

  The meal at last drew to a close, and all looked expectantly toward King Thranduil.  No one would leave the dining hall before their monarch.  Thranduil arose, but before descending from the dais, he stopped at Tawarmaenas' seat.  "Tawarmaenas," he said softly whilst gently shaking the young Elf's shoulder.  "Tawarmaenas, you should not spend the night sleeping in this chair.  If you do, your neck will surely be sore in the morning."

Slowly Tawarmaenas' eyes came into focus, and he realized that he had dozed off at the table.

"My Lord, forgive me!"

"There is nothing to forgive, Tawarmaenas.  You came by your exhaustion honestly, or so your masters tell me."

Tawarmaenas looked unsure of how to answer.

"And why should he not," thought Thranduil bitterly, "given that I have been as neglectful of him as I was—as I was—of Laiqua?"  He drew his hand back from his nephew's shoulder and strode away, leaving behind a shocked tutor, a puzzled young Elf, and a seneschal who marked his behavior this night with great interest.

As was his custom whenever he escaped momentarily from the duties of kingship, Thranduil made his way to the room that had once been Laiqua's, there to sit and brood.  "No," he thought with sudden realization, "not to brood—to remember."  For it had lately seemed to him that he found comfort in this room, where hitherto he had always found pain, as if formerly he had been driving himself to the chamber in order to punish himself.  It was a comfort mingled with regret, of course.  He would recall something that Laiqua had said or done, and he would smile—and then he would wish that he had admitted then that the elfling had been dear to him.

"It would not have been disloyal to the memory of Laurelässe to have allowed myself to take pleasure in the accomplishments of our son."  He knew that now.  He also knew that no one would have blamed him if he had wept at the sight of Laiqua when the elfling aroused in him memories of the departed queen.  Instead, he had chosen to ignore Laiqua as much as possible so that those tears would remain unshed.  In doing so, he had only delayed the time of lamentation, for, when Laiqua had been lost, he still had those tears to cry, as well as the ones he now wept for his son.

He heard a knock on the door.  Only his seneschal would dare disturb him whilst he was in this chamber.

"Enter, Gilglîr."

The seneschal entered and looked at him quizzically.

"I hope you realize, Thranduil, that your behavior this evening has considerably shortened the tutor's lifespan."

"Oh, yes, Gilglîr—and yet he shall live as long as before."

"Yes.  Wonderful thing, immortality.  No matter how many lives you are robbed of, your life expectancy remains unchanged."

"I used to think that a burden."

"And now?"

"There is still joy to be found in the world."

"Indeed?  Where is this joy to be found?"

"You know perfectly well, my friend.  It is to be found, among other places, on a dais where a callow Elf snoozes during the magisterial repast of a king."

"So you have decided to forgive Tawarmaenas for reminding you of Laiqua?"

Thranduil arose and went to stand before the fireplace, even though no fire had been lit in it for centuries.

"I considered your words, my friend.  You said that I neglected Laiqua because he reminded me of Laurelässe, and that now I was neglecting Tawarmaenas because he reminded me of Laiqua, and next I would neglect Tawarmaenas' son because he would remind me of Tawarmaenas, and then I would neglect the son of Tawarmaenas' son because he would remind me of Tawarmaenas' son, and then—"

"Enough!" exclaimed Gilglîr.  "I was trying to make a rhetorical point; it is not necessary to recreate the entire argument!"

"Yes, your recitation was drearily repetitious—but so were my actions.  Now, however, I will promise to mend my behavior if you will mend your speech!"

"And how," asked Gilglîr archly, "do you plan to mend your behavior?"

"Carefully—so that I do not terrify my nephew, who will not know what to think if his fearsome uncle suddenly takes to hovering about him solicitously!"

"Yes," said Gilglîr, suddenly solemn, "I remember that neither you nor Laiqua knew what to make of the situation when you decided to abruptly appear at Laiqua's archery lesson."

Thranduil winced.  "That is a painful memory, Gilglîr, but I will not rage at you for bringing it up.  I think I need to remember everything, if not for my sake then for that of my nephew.

Gilglîr nodded.  "You are wise."

"Pity," said Thranduil sardonically, "that it took me a millennium to become so."

Whilst this conversation was taking place, Tawarmaenas himself was meditating upon the change that he had lately noticed in the King.  When Tawarmaenas had been brought to the King's Hall, the elfling had been distraught.  He had survived the Orc attack that claimed his parents' lives because his mother, mortally wounded by an arrow to the back, had pushed him to the ground and flung herself upon him, hiding him from the Orcs who had proceeded to indiscriminately hack at their victims, both the wounded and the dead.  Shielded by his mother's body, Tawarmaenas had heard the sound of the blow that had decapitated his Nana.  When the search party gently lifted her body and discovered the trembling elfling, he had been soaked with his mother's blood.

When Tawarmaenas had arrived at the Hall, he had naturally looked for comfort from his uncle, who was the only adult kin remaining in a family that had been decimated by its foes.  Thranduil, however, had not yet allowed himself to find solace after the death of his wife, and he had none to spare for the little elfling.  Instead, he fled the young one, just as he had been fleeing his son Laiqua.  Both elflings reminded him of his own loss.

It was Laiqua who had saved Tawarmaenas from fading into loneliness and despair.  Laiqua said little and laughed less, but in his silent way he encouraged Tawarmaenas to follow him about, patiently waiting as the younger Elf scrambled to keep up with a cousin who had had years of experience in roaming the tree canopy.  It was Laiqua who looked upon Tawarmaenas with a sympathetic eye when Thranduil did not deign to answer the elfling's timid greetings.  It was Laiqua who nodded understandingly when Tawarmaenas gave way to tears.  Laiqua never cried himself—he was long past that stage—but he would sometimes place a careful arm around the shoulder of his young cousin.  Laiqua was diffident—he held his own feelings close—but that did not stop him from expressing in quiet, sometimes subtle, ways his affection and concern for Tawarmaenas.

Then Laiqua had disappeared—lost to spiders, everyone thought, although Tawarmaenas now knew this to be a lie.  At the time, however, Tawarmaenas believed as everyone did that the Prince was dead, and, had it not been for Gilglîr, once again he would have been in very real danger of fading.  It was the seneschal who insisted that Tawarmaenas return to the King's table when, following in the footsteps of his cousin, the young Elf took to absenting himself from meals, scavenging instead from the kitchen or foraging in the woods for sustenance.

It was after the battle for Dol Guldur that matters had begun to change, the King suddenly evincing an interest in a nephew that he had hitherto shunned.  What had happened to alter the King so?  Tawarmaenas had cautiously brought up the subject one evening as he and Gilglîr had been walking from the dining hall.

"Gilglîr, have you noticed, ah, I was wondering, um, has anything lately, ah—"

"You are wondering why the King's manner toward you has been somewhat different these past few months."

"Ah, yes, Gilglîr."

"He seems somewhat kinder, does he not?"

Tawarmaenas blushed.  "I did not mean to imply that the King has not done his duty by me!"

"But doing one's duty is not the same thing as being kind, is it?"

Tawarmaenas did not reply, which was answer enough for the seneschal.

"I think," mused Gilglîr, "that the King began to change after he saw a young Elf injured during the battle for Dol Guldur.  The King's party had been ambushed by Orcs, and this Elf—a Rivendell Elf, mind you—risked his life by rushing to the aid of the King and his companions.  I am sure that the King was touched, although I am equally sure that he would vehemently deny such feelings.  Nevertheless, I believe that the incident set Thranduil to thinking because the young Elf resembled your cousin Laiqua in age and build—actually, in everything except his hair.  Being a Rivendell Elf, he had dark hair.  In any event, this Imladris Elf was severely injured by an Orc arrow, and Thranduil often asked after his whereabouts and well-being.  In a way, he let himself begin to care about this Elf, as he had not allowed himself to in many centuries, and at the same time he began to think about his role in his son's loss—but in a good way, I think."

"In a good way?"

"For centuries Thranduil has both pitied and despised himself.  Lately, though, he has begun to think about the needs of those around him.  I believe the young Elf helped him to do so.  The Rivendell Elf put himself in peril on behalf of others—and nearly died as a result.  That provided the King with the motivation to cast off his own selfishness—for grief that exceeds the bounds of reason is a form of self-indulgence."

"Despising oneself is form of self-indulgence?"

"Yes, if it accompanied by self-pity.  His very self-hatred allowed him to feel sorry for himself—after all, he could maintain that he was suffering, could he not?"

"Ye-es.  But you make it sound as if he felt better for the suffering—as if he enjoyed suffering?"

"He was entitled to pity himself as long as he suffered—the alternative was dreadful."

"What could be worse?"

"Accepting responsibility."

"But you once told me that he blamed himself for Laiqua's disappearance.  That means that he accepted responsibility, doesn't it?"

"If a person truly accepts responsibility, he will take action to rectify the situation brought about by his actions.  For all these centuries, Thranduil has blamed himself but not taken responsibility—and that has allowed him to sidestep his guilt at the same time as he would claim that he accepted it, for always he could fall back upon his self-pity.  But no more."

"I think I understand a little of what you say, but not all of it," admitted Tawarmaenas.

"Understand this.  He can not change the past, so his only means to remedy the situation is to treat you as he should have treated Laiqua.  It will not be easy for Thranduil to change his ways, but he does feel concern for you now, and he will try to show it.  Some day he will even allow himself to take pleasure in your company as he now wishes that he had taken pleasure in Laiqua's.  That may be a while in coming, however, for he does not believe he deserves such joy.  I believe that he has served a more than adequate penance, but he is not yet convinced."

Tawarmaenas looked worried.  "Gilglîr, he won't expect me to _be_ Laiqua, will he?"

"Oh, no, Tawarmaenas.  Do not fear that he will expect you to take the place of his son.  He can see past himself sufficiently to know that he should not place such a burden upon you."

Tawarmaenas was relieved.  "Good.  I would not want matters to become complicated when Laiqua returns to Greenwood."

"What?"

"When Laiqua returns to Greenwood," repeated Tawarmaenas, smiling happily.

"Whatever made you say that?  Tawarmaenas, your cousin was lost to spiders."

"No one ever found his body, and one of Elrond's sons has assured me that Laiqua will come back someday.  He has the gift of foresight, like his grandmother, Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien."

"Which of Elrond's sons?"

"Elrohir."

"Isn't he the wilder of the twins?  Do not place any credence in his words."

"I am sorry, but you are wrong about that, Gilglîr," Tawarmaenas said politely but firmly.  "There was no lie in his eyes.  Elrohir knows for a fact that Laiqua is alive and will return some day."

"Do not mention this to your uncle," urged Gilglîr.  "It would distress and unsettle him."

"Yes, Gilglîr.  I have been very careful to say nothing to Thranduil because Elrohir warned me that some time may pass before Laiqua's return."

Gilglîr nodded approvingly.  "Well done, Tawarmaenas.  And now you must excuse me, as I have some tasks need doing."

"Of course, Gilglîr."

The seneschal hastened to his chamber so that he could ponder Tawarmaenas' words in privacy.  In spite of his warning to the young Elf, he knew of no reason why Elrohir's words should be doubted.  The young Elf's reputation for playing pranks extended even to Mirkwood, but no one had ever called his honesty or integrity into question.  Moreover, Gilglîr could not find it in his heart to believe that one of Elrond's sons would do something so cruel as to play with the hopes of the kin of a Prince long thought dead.  Such a hoax would not be thought a 'prank' by any Elf of Gilglîr's acquaintance.  No, it would be judged a crime worthy of exile!

Gilglîr thus could not help but suspect that there was something behind Elrohir's assurances, but what?  Was it conceivable that the Prince was indeed alive?  It was true that there had been no proof positive of his death—no body had ever been found; nor had any of his clothing or weapons been recovered.  The only sign of Laiqua ever found had been a few strands of golden hair entangled in a spider's web.  Still, no word of the Prince had ever arrived in Mirkwood.  If he had had not fallen prey to spiders, where could he have been all these centuries?  Lothlórien?  Impossible!  There was much too much coming and going between the realm of Thranduil and that of the Lord and Lady of Lórien.  The Grey Havens?  That was not a place where Elves dwelled but where Elves passed through on their way to the Undying Lands.  The Undying Lands themselves?  A lone elfling would have been turned back at the Havens—especially if Círdan had recognized him as heir to the throne of Mirkwood.  And in the unlikely event that Laiqua had been allowed to journey on, would he be permitted to return, as Tawarmaenas seemed convinced that he would?  Glorfindel had come back from the Halls of Mandos, but that was an extraordinary event, hardly the sort of thing that would happen to a young Elf who had never seen battle.

But had he in fact never seen battle?  If he were indeed alive, he would be of an age to join the warriors.  Yet he had not been present at Dol Guldur.  Or had he been present but unrecognized—disguised perhaps?  Mayhap he had been with the Rivendell contingent.  Imladris was on the other side of the Misty Mountains, but it was closer to Mirkwood than the Grey Havens.  Could Laiqua have journeyed to Rivendell?  But he had seen no golden-haired Elves amongst Elrond's warriors.

Manwë!  He had the brains of Troll!  Of all disguises, the coloring of hair was one of the simplest.  He should not rule out any Elves with dark hair.  There was that Elf whose father was never named, the one being fostered by Elrond—Durrandîr he had been called.  The right build, the right age.  From a distance, his eyes had appeared blue.  Durrandîr had never approached near enough for Gilglîr to be sure of his eye color.  Thranduil, had been so strongly reminded of Laiqua by the young Elf, had also never seen him at close range.  When the young Elf had been injured, Thranduil had tried to assist him but had been rudely pushed back by one of the Rivendell Elves before he could draw near.

Rivendell.  The answer to the mystery lay in Rivendell.  Even if the resemblance between Laiqua and Durrandîr was a coincidence, Elrohir—and mayhap Elrond—knew something about the fate of the Prince of Mirkwood.  Gilglîr had to find a way to get to Rivendell but without causing any suspicion on the part of Thranduil, who would be devastated if his hopes were raised and then dashed.

Tawarmaenas, thought Gilglîr.  He is the heir to the throne, but he has never traveled further than southern Mirkwood.  It would be plausible if Gilglîr suggested that it was time for Tawarmaenas to go on a journey beyond the borders of Thranduil's kingdom.  A future king must become acquainted with conditions in the other Elven realms.  The young Elf must certainly go to Lothlórien, but Imladris was an important territory as well and could not be neglected.  Of course, Tawarmaenas would need a suitable escort, one befitting his rank as the King's nephew and his heir.   What better escort than Gilglîr, seneschal to King Thranduil?

Gilglîr smiled to himself as he arose and went in search of Thranduil.  Somehow, against all reason, he had become just as confident as Tawarmaenas.   Legolas was to be found somewhere in Middle Earth.  It was just a matter of where—and when.


	2. Pulling Teeth

**The story will toggle back and forth between the Mirkwood and the Rivendell Elves.  This chapter is devoted to Rivendell and shows, I hope, a very different family dynamic than the one that for centuries has governed Thranduil's household.**

_Jebb__: I am relieved that Gilglîr seems to work as a character, since he is my own creation.  Someday I think I might like to strike out on a story of my own, start to finish—characters, setting, plot._

_Becky: _Thank you.  I hope I can live up to expectations!

_Kitsune__: Here you go.  Didn't keep you in suspense too long, did I?_

_Dark of Stars: _Talk about a small world!  My family was created through adoption.  I went down to Peru for six weeks to adopt my daughter, who was six days old when I began to care for her while the case was going through the court.  I was in a bit of a daze when I arrived because on the application I had said that I would like to adopt a little girl between the ages of three and seven years of age.  I was going to be a single mom, so I was trying to be practical.  Patty was so new to the world that she still had the stump of her umbilical cord!  So much for practical—but I've never regretted for a minute the way things turned out, although my life has been non-stop crazy ever since then.  Anyway, adoption-related issues fascinate me.  I'm a member of Adoptive Families of America, I wrote a response to Patty's 'family tree' exercise that was published in a Latin American Parents Association newsletter, and I delivered a paper on the way adoption is depicted in books for children and adolescents.  I will definitely find a way to explore Elladan and Elrohir's feelings about Anomen's place in the family and the impact the situation has on them, and the impact their feelings have on Anomen.

_Daw__ the Minstrel:  This is a Rivendell chapter which will, I hope, address your curiosity about how things are going there._

_Farflung__: Thank __you!  I was fascinated by what you said about how I "didn't plan this out at the beginning and just flew by the seat of [my] pants but all these threads were there for [me] to use."  I keep getting surprised at how the story seems to write itself.  Sometimes I feel as if the story is already out there somewhere, finished, and I'm just transcribing it.  Have you ever come across the idea that a sculptor is merely freeing the sculpture that already exists in the stone?  The sensation that I'm just making the story available is a very weird one—kind of like a literary equivalent of 'channeling'.  Ooooh, this is getting heavy.  (Theme song from the Twilight Zone plays in the background.)_

_Dragonfly: _I won't have the story end with the reunion.  I want some wiggle room in case another episode occurs to me.  However, I hope to establish by the end of the story that Thranduil is ready and Anomen almost ready for a reunion.  Then the ending of "The Nameless One" won't seem so abrupt because people will know that it did not in fact come out of the air but that both Elves were prepared for it.

_dd9736:  _Hey, you trying to scare me with that "I'll be watching" conclusion to your review?  Eeeep!  (Author tries to hide under desk, is too big to fit, bottom sticks out, which, like ego, is oversized!)   ^_^

_Ky_: _Yes, Anomen's reaction is going to be the classic $64,000 question._

_Karri: _Here it is!

_Joee__: Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. ^_^_

While Thranduil and Tawarmaenas were grappling with death, loneliness, guilt, and grief, the Elves dwelling in Rivendell were confronting a very different sort of problem.  No doubt Thranduil would have snorted in derision had he realized that, at the moment, the greatest test facing his Rivendell counterpart was convincing Estel to stay in his bed at night!  Thranduil would have thought it a luxury to have been able to devote himself to the solution of such a trivial matter.  Of course, Elrond had the time to tend to this minor nuisance because, instead of ignoring larger problems, he had been dealing with them on a continuous basis.  Otherwise, the smaller ones would never even have surfaced.

On one of his visits to Rivendell, Mithrandir had advised Elrond to give Estel a room of his own so that Anomen could have some privacy.  This advice seemed good to Elrond, and he had moved the little human into a room near his own.  Unfortunately, Estel was balking dreadfully at this change in sleeping arrangements.  Night after night, he slipped out of his new room and made his way back to the one he had shared with Anomen.  From that young Elf's point of view, he had been better off when he had officially shared a room with Estel because at least he could keep the little human out of his bed.  Now, however, Estel's bed had been moved to his new room, so when the child showed up in Anomen's room, he would promptly climb into the Elf's bed.  Since Estel either stank or wriggled—usually both—Anomen was finding it difficult to get a good night's sleep.

To everyone's surprise, it was Glorfindel who solved this problem.  On an expedition to Dunland, he stopped in a village where he observed a child playing with a newly weaned puppy.

"Are there any more puppies hereabouts?" the elf-lord asked the child.

"Yes, sir.  This one has six littermates."

"And are they all weaned?"

"Yes, all."

"Will you show them to me?"

The child led Glorfindel to a shed where the other puppies tumbled about, pulling at one another's ears and nipping at each other's tales.  They all looked healthy, especially one of the males, although, truth be told, its brown fur was extraordinarily scruffy.  Glorfindel picked up this puppy and pulled a coin from his waist pouch.

"Will you let me have this one?"

"Oh, yes!"  The child seized the coin and scurried off.  The Dunlendings usually lived by barter.  It was rare that a coin fell into their hands.  Glorfindel thought ruefully that he had probably paid ten times what the pup was worth in the eyes of the Dunlendings, but, well, never mind.

Glorfindel rode into Rivendell with the puppy concealed under his cloak.  He did not, in fact, reveal it until dinner that evening.  He wore his cloak to the table, the puppy still hidden within its folds.

"Estel," said Elrond sternly, "stop making that whimpering noise."

"I didn't make any noise, Ada.  I was chewing just now, and I kept my mouth shut, just as you have told me to."

Narrowing his eyes and lifting his eyebrows—no one had ever been able to explain how he accomplished these simultaneous feats but the results were awe-inspiring—Elrond fixed his gaze upon his older sons.

"I do not know which of you is responsible, but you are well past the age when such behavior is to be tolerated—and do not look at me with those innocent expressions!"

"But, Ada," protested Elladan, "we can't help looking at you with innocent expressions.  We _are innocent!"_

Just then the whimpering noise was heard again.  As Elrond was staring directly at his sons, he could see that they were not the culprits.  And why was Glorfindel smirking?  Just then Glorfindel's cloak twitched.

More whimpering.

"Glorfindel, by what magic are you making your cloak move about—and, please, no bawdy jokes!"

Glorfindel drew aside his cloak, and the puppy scrambled up until, its back paws on Glorfindel's knees, it was able to place its front paws upon the table.  Eagerly, it began to chew at a piece of venison on the balrog-slayer's plate.  Erestor looked horrified.

"A creature at the table—this is unheard of!"

"Actually," said Glorfindel calmly, "it is not unheard of.  Men often bring animals into their dwellings, especially dogs, whom they treat as companions."

"But we are not Men!"

"Estel is, or he will be, someday."

By now Estel had deserted his seat and was standing by Glorfindel's knee, playing with the puppy by dangling a strip of cloth—probably torn from his tunic—before the little dog, who seized it in his teeth and began to worry it.

"I have been considering, Elrond," said Glorfindel, turning toward that elf-lord, that one way to prevail upon Estel to stay in his own room is to let him keep this puppy.  Apparently the little human likes to curl up against something warm, and a puppy would be eminently suited to fulfill that need."

The little human in question had by now captured the puppy from Glorfindel and had crawled with it under the table, where, judging from the thumps, they were tumbling about with noisy abandon.  Much squealing could be heard as well, and it was impossible to tell which squeals came from the boy, which the puppy.

"But an animal would make the room stink," objected Erestor.

"Estel's room already stinks," giggled Elrohir.

"Yes," Elladan chimed in.  "I doubt if a puppy would make matters any worse!"

"I think it is an excellent idea," joined in Anomen.  "And, as I am the one who has had to put up with a stinky human in my bed, I believe my opinion ought to carry great weight!"

"But an animal in a bedchamber!  An animal as a companion!" wailed Erestor.  "Oh!  Oh!" the tutor shrieked suddenly.  "Let go my leggings, you beast!"

"Estel or the puppy?" deadpanned Elladan.

"I consider my horse to be my companion, friend, and confidant," declared Glorfindel, as, a little nettled, he returned to Erestor's statement.

"But you don't sleep with him!"

"Actually, on occasion I have.  Conditions on a campaign sometimes require it—but _you_ wouldn't know about _that, would you?"_

The conversation was getting altogether too heated, Elrond thought.

"Some Elves keep birds in their rooms," he interjected mildly.  Then a pained look came over his face.  Something warm and wet was trickling down his leg.  He really did hope that it _was_ the puppy, as the alternative was appalling.

"Birds!" snorted Erestor.  "They are nowhere near as messy as dogs!"

"Oh, I wouldn't know about that, Erestor," Glorfindel commented.  "Berenmaethor keeps a jay in his chamber, and it is not very particular about where it deposits—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Erestor hastily.  The young Elves had to fight to keep their faces straight.  Everyone knew that Berenmaethor's jay had scored a direct hit on Erestor's head when that venerable Elf had come to Berenmaethor's chamber to deliver a map that the patrol leader had requested.

Elrond cleared his throat.  It was really time to bring this, ah, discussion to a close.  Everyone looked toward the elf-lord, awaiting his decision.

"As Estel is a human, we should not try to bring him up in all ways as we would our own offspring.  He will always be able to freely move amongst the elven kindred, but someday he will be numbered amongst Men as well.  We keep horses.  Men keep horses and dogs.  Estel should have a dog, as the young of Men generally do.  Such a dog will, I deem, cause little disruption in the Hall.  Like children past babyhood, dogs once past puppyhood can be taught to behave quite appropriately as regards their bodily needs.  It is true, of course, that Estel's room will soon smell rather canine, but that odor will be no worse, and mayhap even better, than the current one.  Finally, if Estel is curled up with a dog, he is unlikely to wake up during the night and invade Anomen's bed, where he both kicks our poor young Elf and offends his nasal sensibilities."

Elladan and Elrohir snickered at that last pronouncement, but they subsided when Anomen shot them a dangerous look.

"Well, now that the matter is settled, Estel must name his new companion," declared Glorfindel.  He was anxious for the discussion to conclude because he had the distinct impression that something was chewing on his boot.

Putting on an air of erudition, Erestor declaimed, "It is the custom of Men to name their dogs 'Spot'."

"_All their dogs?" said Glorfindel doubtfully.  "That doesn't sound practical.  If all our horses had the same name, they'd all come galloping up every time we tried to summon just one of them."_

"We are talking about Men," said Erestor loftily.  "No doubt the usual standards of logic do not prevail."

Elrond shook his head.  "Even Men would have more sense that that, Erestor.  At any rate, Estel lives here, amongst Elves, so he may follow elven practice and give his puppy a special name that signifies that puppy and only that puppy—ah, there will be only that one puppy, I hope, Erestor?"  Elrond made a grab for a wine goblet that was teetering on the edge of the table, repeated bumps against the table leg having jolted it into that position.

"Elrond, your elven vision fails you if you do not observe that this puppy is of the male persuasion.  It—he—will not be gifting us with a litter in a year's time.  I think not even Mithrandir's magic could bring about such an event."

"But it—he—can still sire puppies," pointed out Erestor gloomily.  He tried to kick away whatever was crawling over his foot and was rewarded with a nip for his pains.

"Aye, but that will be a problem for the wolves, not for us, Erestor, as the only females with which he could breed are out roaming the forest."

Erestor muttered something about wolf kin taking up residence in Rivendell, but Elrond, not to mention everyone else, pretended not to hear him.  The decision was final.

Estel had been happily ignoring this entire conversation.  You may be sure that no one wanted to look under the table and see what he and the puppy had accomplished.

"Estel," called Elrond, "come out from underneath the table and bring your puppy with you."

"My puppy, did you say?" called back Estel.

"Yes, your puppy."

Cradling the puppy in his arms, Estel wriggled out from under the table.  The little human looked a little like a puppy himself, so covered was he with dust and dog hairs.

"You must name your puppy, Estel."

Estel looked down at the puppy, considering.

"He is Gwaurant!"

"Dusty gift?"

"Yes," Estel said decidedly.  "He is a gift, and he is dusty."

"And the same could be said for you, little one," laughed Elrond.  "Very well.  'Gwaurant' he is.

Glorfindel had hit upon the perfect solution, it seemed.  Estel slept through each night curled up like, well, curled up like a puppy with its littermate.  When Elrond checked on his little foster son each night before retiring himself, he sometimes had trouble telling where puppy left off and child began.  Anomen was perfectly contented as well.  He had good-naturedly agreed to help Estel train the dog—Erestor had muttered that the task should have fallen to Glorfindel—and felt that this was a small price to pay for undisturbed sleep in a room that smelled like the forest rather than like mud and sweat—and other things whose source he had never dared determine.

The night came, however, when once again Anomen heard the door swing open, followed by the approaching footsteps of a small human.  The mattress sank slightly as Estel crawled up upon his bed.

"Estel," he began to protest, but then he realized that the child was crying.  Worried, he sat up and lit a candle.  The little human was clutching his mouth with his hand, and Anomen was alarmed to see blood oozing out from beneath the hand and running down Estel's chin.

"Estel!  Did Gwaurant bite you!?"

Estel shook his head.

"Then what has happened!?"

Estel shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Anomen sprang up and, carefully picking up Estel, ran down the hall to Elrond's room.  He burst in without knocking.  Fortunately and unlike Glorfindel, Elrond preferred to sleep in a nightdress, probably because long years of parenting had taught him that one may need to arise at a moment's notice.  Usually Glorfindel knew when Orcs were on the way, but Elrond never had any warning of what his sons would do next.

"Ada," cried Anomen, "I think something is wrong with Estel!"

Estel was still holding his hand over his mouth, his eyes brimming with tears.

Elrond arose and knelt before the child, gently grasping his shoulders.

"Are you hurt?"

The little human nodded.

"Your mouth is injured?"

Another nod.

"You must let me look if I am to help you."

Slowly Estel drew the hand away and opened his mouth.  Elrond could see blood on his hand, lips, and gums.

"Ah, I think I see the problem."  Gently Elrond reached into the child's mouth.  One swift tug and a tooth lay on Elrond's palm.

Estel began to cry.  "My teef' are falling out!"

"No, no," Elrond reassured the child.  "You have had tiny teeth, but you are growing bigger, and these tiny teeth will no longer do.  Each little tooth will loosen until it is ready to fall out or be pulled.  Then big teeth will come in, suitable for a young Man.  Don't you know that someday you will be as big as Halbarad, jaw and all?"

"And as big as my fadah was?"

"Aye, as big as your father, Arathorn son of Arador."

"And when dat happens, I will be _Awagorn_ son of _Awathorn_."

"Aye, but not before you can _say _Aragorn son of Aragorn!"

Elrohir knocked on the door just then.  He had heard the sound of running feet in the corridor.

"_Elwohir_! _Elwohir_!" I am getting man-size teef'!"

Anomen grinned and opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't you dare say it, Anomen," hissed 'Elwohir'.

"Oh, I won't, but everyone else in Rivendell will be saying it by next nightfall!"

"_Elwond," began Estel._

"Ah, Estel," Elrond said hastily, "I thought you were going to call me 'Ada'."

"Oh, yeth.  Ada, may I have dat toof'?"

"Of course.  Let me tell you a secret.  You know that Dwarves are bringers of gold."

"Oh, yeth.  'An Elf for wine; a Dwa'f for gold'.  Dat's what Halbawad always said."

"Oh, did he?"  Elrond looked a little silly.  "Very well.  You must leave this tooth on your window sill tonight.  If you do, a Dwarf will come by and leave you a nugget of gold in exchange for it."

"Weally!?"

"Really."

"Weally!? Weally!?"

"Really, really," Elrond assured him solemnly.  "The Tooth Dwarf left me a nugget for each and every one of my teeth."

"Can you pull out de west of my teef'?" asked Estel eagerly.

 "No, Estel.  The rule is that the Tooth Dwarf leaves only one nugget at a time.  Besides, it may be awhile before your next man-size tooth is ready.   If I were to pull your teeth, you may be toothless, like a baby, for a very long time.  You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Oh, no!" said Estel quickly.

Another knock was heard on the door.

"Enter," sighed Elrond.  Would he never get any sleep this night?

This time it was Mithrandir, who had returned just that afternoon from Lothlórien.  He too had heard footsteps.

"Mifunder!  Mifunder!"

Mithrandir blanched.  The first time he had met Estel, the child had called him 'Mithunder'.  He had said then that Estel might want to call him 'Gandalf'.  Apparently it was time to renew the suggestion, and perhaps more forcefully.

"Ah, Estel, remember that once your name was Aragorn son of Arathorn."

"It still _is Awagorn son of Awathorn.  Estel is my name, too, but I will always be Awagorn son of Awathorn, and someday people will call me that too."_

"Very true.  Well, like you, I have more than one name.  For the time being, I am going to be Gandalf.  Can you say that?"

"Gandalf."

"Excellent."

"So now ewyone will call you Gandalf?"

"Um, ah, yes.  Elrond, will make it generally known that henceforth I am to be addressed as Gandalf?"

"Of course, mellon-nîn," said Elrond, his face studiedly impassive.

Mithrandir—that is, Gandalf—heaved a sigh of relief.  He did have his dignity to consider, after all, and he didn't think it would last long under the onslaught of 'Mifunder'."

"Now," said Elrond, "I am sure Mith—Gandalf would like to get back to sleep.  I know _I_ certainly would."

Upon that hint, the wizard, the little human and the two young Elves bowed and departed from the room, Estel carefully clutching his tooth in one hand and poking at the empty space in his gum with the other.

"I can feel something hawd in my mouf' where de old toof' uthed to be," Estel declared excitedly.

"So you see," said Anomen, "Ada was right.  Before too long that space will be filled with a man-size tooth."

"Yeth!  And I will have a gold nugget.  Gold nuggets are shiny.  They will make pwetty tholdiers, much pwettier than sticks and nuts."

Ah, so that explained Estel's momentary eagerness to have all his baby teeth pulled.  Anomen had briefly wondered if Estel had developed a bit of a greedy streak, but, no, he was merely looking forward to reinforcing his play army of nuts and twigs with more noble warriors.  Anomen resolved to whittle some warriors and ask the Master Goldsmith to gild them for the child.  He could have them ready as a gift for Estel at the Midwinter's Feast.

"Anomen," said Elrohir, as they reached his chamber, "Elladan and I are thinking of riding to the northern border.  Hitherto that border has been safe, but Thoron returned last night with a report of unusual tracks in that region.  Would you like to accompany us?"

"Of course, Elrohir."

Estel began to clamor.  "I want to come, too!"

Anomen knelt before the child.

"Estel, your man-size teeth are beginning to come in, is this not true?"

Estel nodded.

"So you are becoming a Man."

Estel looked surprised.  After a moment he nodded again.

"More is expected of Men than of children, is that not so?"

Estel had no choice but to nod, albeit reluctantly.

"Men do not always do as they please, correct?"

"Ye-eth."

"Men follow orders, even if they do not wish to."

Estel nodded unhappily.  He could see where this is going.

"This is a sortie for Elrohir, Elladan, and myself.  Your turn will come.  For now, it is your task to present yourself to Erestor in the morning at the library and to present yourself to Glorfindel in the afternoon at the training fields.  Those are your orders.  Will you be a Man and follow them?"

Estel sighed but said "Yeth" in a firm voice.  Anomen smiled.  Even though assent had been lisped, the young Elf knew that Estel was making a promise that he intended to keep—as a Man would.  The Elf arose.

"You are truly worthy of your name—all your names.  Glorfindel has taught you to check over your weapons carefully, has he not?

"Oh, yeth!"

"Would you assist me in preparing then?  I would like someone to check the fletching of some arrows.  Could you do that?"

"Glorfindel says that I am vewy good at caring for my awwows."

"Excellent.  And I shall mark each arrow you check with a spot of dye.  When I return, I shall tell you how each arrow flew and what foe it felled."

"Oh, I will check _all your awwows!" Estel exclaimed enthusiastically._

"No," said Anomen, his face serious.  "I need to stay in practice myself, so I can't let you examine all of them—I must hold back some for my examination."

"Vewy well," Estel agreed, equally serious.  "I would not want your skills to wane."

Elrohir was watching this whole exchange with astonishment.  It was amazing how Anomen could get along with the little human.  It was true that Estel had a spot of elven blood, but no one would have called him an Elf!  Well, in his wanderings, Anomen must have encountered many different peoples.  No doubt he had had to develop the ability to adjust no matter what the setting.

Gandalf had also been watching the exchange between Elf and human, but with a speculative eye.  In the coming centuries, he thought to himself, he hoped that Elrond would find a way to put to good use Anomen's talent for getting along with folk of various races and cultures.  He would have to encourage Elrond in that direction.  Yes, mused the wizard, he could see that, given the right mission, Anomen's skills would someday prove to be very useful—perhaps extraordinarily so.


	3. Venturing Forth

A bunch of thank-you's for responses to the last chapter: _Konzen_, Grumpy, Kim _(Fetch a defibrillator, somebody!)_, Jebb _("Not that I'm hinting in the least" about the next story, writes _Jebb_.  Sure, __Jebb, uh huh  ^_^  ),  __dd9736 (Hmmm, give the dog a bath, eh—sees comic possibilitiesss, we does, yeeess, precious), _Farflung___ (Yep, Estel will get a chance to say 'Ewestah' and 'Glowfindel' in an upcoming chapter—you can bet that 'Glowfindel' will take it a lot better than 'Ewestah'), __Joee (I'm not responsible for any eye injuries!  ^_^  ), __Ky__ (Fetch the oxygen, somebody!), __Kitsune__, MoroTheWolfGod, Karri, and __Dragonfly.  I really enjoy getting a sense of what works, and I also appreciate receiving ideas for future stories._

Vocabulary

elleth—'elf maiden'

Tawarmaenas—'Forest craft'

Tawarmanadh—'Forest bliss'

"Absolutely not!"

            "But Thranduil—"

            "No!"

            "Thranduil, you must consid—"

            No!"

            "If you would only lis—"

            "NO!"

            "Thranduil, YOU MAKE DWARVES LOOK REASONABLE!"

            Silence.

            Gilglîr glared; Thranduil gaped.

            "Now," said Gilglîr at last, adopting a calmer tone of voice, "mayhap we can discuss this matter like two sensible Elves who have lived millennia enough to know that it is not polite to interrupt."

            Still stunned by Gilglîr's outburst, Thranduil could do no more than nod.  In all the centuries that Thranduil had known him, the seneschal had never shouted.  Fumed, yes.  Muttered, yes.  Growled and complained, yes.  But shouted?  Never.  And at him, no less!

            "Tawarmaenas," said Gilglîr, "has never traveled beyond the borders of Greenwood."

            "He has been to Dol Guldur."

            "As I said, he has never been _beyond_ the borders of this forest."

            "After the battle for Dol Guldur, did he not journey onto the plain to bid the foreign Elves and the Rohan riders farewell?"

            "Thranduil, he scarcely passed beyond the shadow of the forest that day.  Certainly he learned nothing of distant lands by venturing a few feet past the tree line."

            "There is time yet."

            "You do not know that, Thranduil.  If anything should befall you, an heir must be ready to ascend the throne."

            Agitated, Thranduil paced back and forth.         

"Very well," he conceded finally.  "But he may go no further than Lothlórien.  He will learn enough on such a journey."

            Gilglîr shook his head.

            "If he is only to visit one realm, it should be Imladris.  Lórien Elves he has met from time to time, but he has little acquaintance with Elrond's folk."

            "Nay.  Imladris is too far.  He will have to cross the Misty Mountains."

            "Many cross the Misty Mountains—and he will be well-guarded.  I myself will accompany him."

            "And I shall remain here alone?" said Thranduil plaintively.

Gilglîr smiled affectionately at his friend.  So this was what troubled the King.

"Not alone, surely.  You will be surrounded by Elves!"

"But you are my friend, and he is my nephew.  Gilglîr, I have only lately grown to love him, and you want to take him away!"

This gave Gilglîr pause.  Not so long ago, that Thranduil should utter the word 'love' would have been inconceivable.  His desire to keep his nephew by his side must be honored—yet it was still necessary for Tawarmaenas to travel to Rivendell.

"Thranduil," said Gilglîr thoughtfully.  "It has been years since you yourself have traveled outside this realm.  I believe that you have not done so since you led an army to the Lonely Mountain to demand your share of Smaug's treasure from those wretched Dwarves."

"True, but I have had many cares."

"Indeed, and some were of your own making."

Thranduil colored a little.

"I cannot deny the truth of your words, my friend."

"Then make amends by accompanying us to Lothlórien."

Thranduil suddenly looked excited, almost childishly so.

"Of course," he exclaimed.  "Tawarmaenas will become acquainted with other lands, but I need not be parted from him.  An excellent plan.  But why should I stop at Lórien?  I will journey to Imladris as well!"

Now Gilglîr was forced to moderate the King's enthusiasm.  Not knowing how things stood in Rivendell, he did not want Thranduil to journey there—no, not until he had determined to a certainty the fate and whereabouts of the missing Prince of Greenwood.

"Is that wise, my Lord?" he asked, reverting to the role of seneschal.  "Lórien is an easy distance, and you will not be gone long from your kingdom, but a journey to Imladris would keep you absent many months.  If trouble arose, you could be easily recalled from Lothlórien, but many weeks might pass before you would return from the realm of Elrond." 

            Reluctantly, Thranduil had to concede that Gilglîr was right.  But then his face brightened.

            "Gilglîr, before Tawarmaenas departs for Lothlórien and Imladris, he should visit Esgaroth.  He will someday need to negotiate trade treaties with the Men of Laketown—yes, and he should even visit the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain.  Our relations with those folk are awkward, but they must be maintained.  And to those lands I may journey, may I not?"

            So anxious was Thranduil to remain by Tawarmaenas' side that he was in fact appealing to Gilglîr for permission, as if he were an elfling.  Gilglîr's heart ached for the King, lonely so long and now frantic for the companionship of the Elf whom, he believed, was his only surviving kinsman.

            "I think that is an excellent idea, Thranduil.  Tawarmaenas should indeed become acquainted with the folk of Esgaroth and the Lonely Mountain, and you should accompany him.  For that part of the journey, I think I need not escort Tawarmaenas.  Since the death of the dragon Smaug, those lands have been much less beset with peril than formerly.  And if I remain at the Great Hall during that time, then only for the later journey to and fro Lothlórien will Greenwood be left with neither of us in command."

What Gilglîr was really thinking, however, was that, while he remained in Greenwood, Thranduil would have ample opportunity for private conversation with his nephew.  His speech and behavior would not be constrained by the presence of the seneschal.

Thranduil eagerly agreed with this new plan, perhaps because he, too, realized that it would allow him to devote much time to Tawarmaenas.

"Ah, of course, Gilglîr.  And our return from the Lonely Mountain and Laketown will take us back through northern Greenwood, and then you may join us, and together we will ride to Lothlórien.  When the time comes for Tawarmaenas to depart Lórien to cross the Misty Mountains to Rivendell, I shall at that point return to Greenwood.  Yes, Gilglîr, this plan will do nicely!"

            A fortnight later, an excited Tawarmaenas, and an equally excited Thranduil, set out for Esgaroth.  The King marveled at the fact that he was journeying for pure pleasure—under the guise of a diplomatic mission, of course, but that did not diminish his joy at being free of all responsibility save to converse with and entertain his nephew.

            "Over there, Tawarmaenas, was the tree your mother got stuck in when she was a mere half century in age."

            "How was it she became trapped?"  Tawarmaenas had heard the story several times from his mother, but he longed to hear it again.

"The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien had arrived for trade negotiations, and our father had planned a great feast in their honor.  Tawarmanadh was dressed in her most elaborate gown for the occasion.  She knew she shouldn't climb in such a gown, but she did anyway—she was always willful, your mother!  The gown caught on a branch.  She wriggled this way and that, but couldn't free herself.  She was terrified of what her nursemaid would say if she tore the gown, but she was too ashamed to call for help.  So there she sat, hour after hour, whilst search parties scoured the forest.  My Ada told me that several must have passed the base of the tree where she sat, but she said nary a word!"

"And you were the one who found her in the end."

"In truth, she allowed me to find her, else I would have had no more luck than the other searchers.  I slipped out of the Great Hall—my father did not want another of his elflings wandering the forest when one was already missing!—and I quietly set out in search of her, calling her name softly as I went.  When I passed by the tree, she heard me and answered back just as softly.  I climbed up to her and freed her.  Then the two of us slipped back into the Hall through a little used door that I knew of, and Tawarmanadh went into an out-of-the way room and crawled into a bed.  At about that time, Galadriel suggested that Thranduil order the Hall to be thoroughly searched once again—'She may have been overlooked,' she declared—and within short order Tawarmanadh was found 'asleep' in her retreat."

"It is lucky that Galadriel thought to suggest that the Hall be searched a second time."

Thranduil laughed.  "Luck probably had nothing to do with it!  I am sure that Galadriel knew what we were about—certainly my father was not fooled!  I think it does not take Galadriel's mirror for a parent to read the mind of a young one—not if the parent is paying attention!"

"You must have been pleased that your sister would allow you to find her."

Thranduil nodded, smiling at the pleasure that the memory gave him, the image of a trusting sister who would hide from all others but not from him.

            "I was indeed.  Tawarmanadh and I were always close.  Truth be told, sometimes she followed me to places where she had no business being—although more than once it turned out all the better for me that she had!  She was fearless, and I will never forget the times she came to my _rescue_."

            "Such as when she drove off the spider?" said Tawarmaenas eagerly.

            "Aye.  Thank the Valar for her stubbornness—and courage—that day."

            "A delegation was visiting from Esgaroth, was that not so, uncle?"

            "Yes, and my father asked me and my friends to entertain several lads who had accompanied the delegation—apprentices and sons of traders.  My friends and I decided to take them about the forest, and Tawarmanadh was following us out from the Hall when the boys objected.  'We won't be able to have any fun if she tags along,' they cried, 'for she is a girl and will soon be sniveling.'  I should have said, 'That girl is my sister, and she is braver than the lot of you of combined.'  Instead, I drove her off with belittling words—_I_ was the one who lacked courage that day."

            "But she followed you," said Tawarmaenas with glee.

            "That she did.  I had no joy that day, thinking of the ill way that I had served my sister.  When nightfall came, I was reluctant to return to the Hall, for I was ashamed and loath to face Tawarmanadh.  I lingered behind the others.  So it came to pass that I was alone when night fell—or so I thought.  Suddenly I heard hissing and snapping on all sides, and it seemed as if all the spiders in Greenwood were scuttling toward me.  Even before I had time to gather my wits, a little fury of an elleth came leaping from behind a bush, knife in hand, and like warriors, fighting back-to-back my sister and I were able to fend off the spiders until help arrived.  Without her aid, I am sure I would have been lost."

            "My mother had spirit," said Tawarmaenas proudly.

            "Aye, as she showed on the day that she died, the day that she gifted you with life even as her own slipped away."

            For a little while the two Elves rode silently side by side, but thoughtful rather than grieving.

            "I wish," Thranduil said at last, "that Laiqua had had a sister by his side when he found himself trapped in a spider's web."

            "Why did you never remarry so that he might have had siblings?"

            "I convinced myself that looking at another maiden would have proved me faithless.  I know now that I was wrong.  Allowing joy back into my life would not have been disloyal to Laurelässe—no, no more than loving you proves me untrue to the memory of my son.  The wise among Men have a saying: "The quality of mercy is not strain'd, / It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven / Upon the place beneath."  One could say the same of love, I think.  It need not be doled out but may be given freely, and no matter how much love is gifted, the heart need never run dry.  Remember that, my son." 

They journeyed on again in silence for a time until the king began to hum and then sing.  "Laurelässe Laiqualässe Legolas," Thranduil chanted softly.  "Names as beautiful as any song.  How could I have forbidden for so long the singing of such a melody?"

 Tawarmaenas had been stunned to hear Thranduil say that he loved him.  Never had he hoped to hear those words.  Now he desperately wished that he could comfort the King by telling him that Laiqua had not perished but dwelt still in Middle Earth.  He knew, however, that Gilglîr was right.  In the absence of proof, the claim that his son still lived would only agitate Thranduil and throw him into an agony of doubt.  The King had come to terms with the assumed death of his son, and for the time being it was better so.  Holding his tongue, Tawarmaenas rode on beside his uncle toward Esgaroth.


	4. To The North

_Farflung__: I __loved your review; it was poetic there at the end: "How could he have proved so false to their memories by denying their existence as anything but a blessing to him for as long as he had them?"  (Author shivers with delight.)_

_Webster: _Thank you.  I really want to make the reunion credible.

_Ky__: I loved making Thranduil feel like an elfling.  I think it will help him to be sensitive to the feelings of the real elflings and young elves._

_Konzen__: _Eeeeep! (Author scuttles behind filing cabinet to escape outraged reviewer who feels cheated by short chapter.)  ^_^   Hey, they can't all be _War and Peace!_

_Jebb__: _Yes, that quotation comes from Shakespeare's _Merchant of __Venice__._

_Dragonfly: _Yes, I think Thranduil character has come a long way—and he's going to keep developing his ability to empathize with others.

_dd9736: _Oh no!  I don't want to turn into Glorfindel, always separating people from their heads!  ^_^

_Joee__: Well, this wasn't my fastest update, but hopefully it will be worth the wait._

Vocabulary

burzum—'darkness' (Black Speech)

            Several days had passed since Estel had lost his first baby tooth.  The little human had spent the first few days of that time poking hopefully at his other teeth, but none of the others seemed loose, and he soon tired of the quest.  He also soon tired of the attention he was receiving from elf maidens who pounced upon him because, they avowed, his lisp was utterly adorable.  It seemed that every time he turned about an elf maiden was waiting to tousle his hair affectionately—and his hair needed no tousling!

With Estel anxious to escape the adoring demonstrations of the maidens, it is no wonder that his tongue soon found its way around the lisp.  Within days he spoke nearly as clearly as he had before Elrond had pulled the tooth—with one notable exception.  The first morning, Estel had arrived at the breakfast table eager to show all and sundry both the gap in his mouth and the gold nugget that had indeed appeared on his window sill.  "Glowfindel! Ewestoh!" the little human had crowed as those worthies had approached the table, "look at my mouf'!"  'Glowfindel' had responded by gravely inspecting the space in the urchin's gum and poking with his finger at the hard spot where the new tooth was about to erupt.  Within two days, the balrog-slayer was once again Glorfindel.

The tutor, on the other hand, had reacted by scolding the little human for his poor articulation.  "Tooth or no tooth, you could pronounce clearly enough if you wished," admonished Erestor.  Apparently Estel did not wish, and for the sin of rebuking the little human, the tutor had to suffer hearing himself called 'Ewestoh' for an entire month.  By that time Estel finally became bored with tormenting his master in this fashion and moved on to others means of 'getting the goat' of the venerable Elf.

Fortunately, this day Erestor was not to be closeted with Estel in the library.  Anomen, Elladan, and Elrohir claimed the attention of their old tutor because they needed him to locate some maps for them.

"They will be heading north, Erestor," Elrond informed the tutor, "and before they go I want them to spend some time with you pouring over the appropriate maps."

"Of course, Elrond," replied Erestor self-importantly.  The august Elf was never happier than when he had an opportunity to display his geographical expertise.  Glorfindel caught Anomen's attention and rolled his eyes.   The young Elf began to grin but hastily looked down at his plate as his old tutor turned in his direction.  When Anomen looked up, he saw Elrond looking suspiciously at him.  The Lord of Imladris knew that it was never a good sign when a young Elf began to diligently study his plate.  When Elrond at last turned away, Anomen quickly shot a reproachful look at Glorfindel, but the balrog-slayer looked back at him with an expression of utmost innocence.

After breakfast, Glorfindel took Estel in hand while Anomen, Elrohir, and Elladan accompanied Erestor to the library.

"Now this one," proclaimed Erestor, unrolling a scroll, "is probably one of the best for your purposes.  It has been updated quite recently to reflect the information gathered by Thoron's patrol."

The young Elves bent over the map, studying it intently.

"Will you be journeying all the way to the Northern Waste?  This map does not show the entire Waste, but I have another that does, if you need it."

"Yes, we had best study that one as well," replied Elrohir.  We do not know how far north the trail will take us.  Thoron observed tracks north of here, but he did not try to follow them far past the boundaries of Imladris, returning instead to report his findings.  It is possible that the trail will indeed take us into the Northern Waste."

Erestor hurried off to fetch the map of the Northern Waste, as well as several other charts that he thought might be useful to the young Elves.

A fortnight later, the three Elves bade farewell to Elrond and the others of his household and set out to investigate the tracks that Thoron's patrol had come across near the northeast border of Imladris.

"They were the tracks of Men, I am sure, but not Rangers," Thoron had told Elrond.

"Strange that the tracks of Men should be found to the northeast," Elrond had mused to Glorfindel after Thoron's report.  "No Men live thereabouts.  Anyone coming from the north would almost certainly be a Ranger, and Thoron is convinced that these Men are not Dúnadain.  The Men of Bree-land live roughly that far north, but many leagues to the west; moreover, they would have no business in such an isolated place for there is naught to trade in that desolate region and no one to trade it with.  Moreover, the Bree-landers have no skill in the wild; if they had been bent on traveling east, they would have kept to the Great East Road, and we would have known of their presence.   As for Men coming from the east itself, no humans live on the other side of the Misty Mountains.  Only Elves from Lothlórien would have crossed over that range of mountains."

"That leaves only the south," Glorfindel pointed out.  "It is possible that Men coming from the south kept to the foothills or even the crest of the Misty Mountains so as to bypass our realm.  I imagine that Anomen and the others will find that the tracks eventually turn west."

"Why west?"

"Once before," Glorfindel reminded the Lord of Imladris, "Southrons traveled to Bree-land to try and corrupt the Men in those parts.  We never did determine their route.  Perhaps this is how they bypassed Rivendell—by traveling the length of the Misty Mountains until north of our borders and then cutting west."

"Aye, that is possible.  It troubles me, though, that any Southrons attempting that route would have had to bypass Isengard without Saruman becoming aware of their presence.  These Southrons, if such they be, must be excellent at evading watchers.  Well, be that as it may, let us summon Anomen and the twins and tell them how things stand."

As Elrond and Glorfindel gave the young Elves their instructions, Anomen found his mind wandering repeatedly to the older Elves' suspicion that the Men had come from the south via the foothills or the crest of the Misty Mountains.

"It is not necessarily true," he thought to himself, "that these Men would have had to evade the eyes of Saruman's watchers.  What if Saruman had approved of their mission—or perhaps even initiated it himself?"

Of course, Anomen sighed to himself, Elrond would have been scandalized if the young Elf had uttered these thoughts aloud.  In all but this matter, Anomen completely trusted the judgment of Elrond.  When it came to Saruman, however, Anomen on occasion suspected that the Istar of Isengard had in some way cast a spell upon the Lord of Imladris.  Of course, he conceded, it wasn't just the Lord of Imladris.  All seemed to be swayed by the honeyed voice of the wizard—all save the Lady Galadriel.  However, Anomen dimly understood that it wasn't a proper spell that had allowed Saruman so much authority—rather it was the beauty of his voice and the appearance of great virtue.  Who could doubt the venerable, white-haired wizard, clad in robes that gleamed and flowed, as he proffered words of counsel in words so mellifluous that they caressed the ears?  Only the Lady of Lothlórien was entirely immune to the magic of Saruman's words.  Her own voice had the power to enchant; mayhap only such a one could have resisted being enthralled by the wizard.  

Now, however, as he rode alongside Elladan and Elrohir, those thoughts were far from his mind.  The young Elves were discussing their route.  They had been given a task to accomplish, but the particulars of how to accomplish their mission had been left to their own devising.

"I think," suggested Elrohir, "that we should head due east, toward the crest of the Misty Mountains, to see if we can pick up their trial.  That way we may determine whether, as Glorfindel surmises, these Men traveled from the south following the Misty Mountains.  If we are lucky, and Glorfindel is right, we may not even need to mount all the way to the crest.  They could have kept to the foothills."

"I agree," said Anomen.  "We should try to learn not only whence these Men travel but from whence they came."

 Elladan concurred, and they turned their horses toward the east.  As they entered the foothills of the Misty Mountains, their vigilance was rewarded.   Anomen suddenly bade his horse halt and leaped to the ground, studying the earth carefully.

"Several horses have passed this way," he called to Elladan and Elrohir.  The twins likewise dismounted and came to stand by his side.

"They are heading north," observed Elladan.

"So," said Anomen softly, "Glorfindel was right.  Men traveling south to north and desirous of bypassing the realm of Imladris.  No friends of ours, then, as it is known that the gates of Rivendell are open to Men of goodwill."

Somberly, the others nodded, and they silently followed the trail on foot for a time, looking for subtle differences in the tracks.

"There are five horses," Elrohir at last concluded.  The other two Elves agreed.

They remounted their horses and continued to follow the trail.  At last they came to a spot where the Men had made camp.  They searched the site carefully, looking for any cast-off objects that would provide further clues to the identity of the Men.

"Elladan, Anomen," called Elrohir.  He held up a broken belt that had been thrown aside into a bush.  Anomen took it in his hands and turned it over and over, examining it closely.

"This is fine work," he said at last.  "See the complicated design that has been incised into the leather, and look at the quality of the buckle—silver, too.  No Dunlending ever wore such a belt."

"No," said Elladan.  "And no Dunlending would have cast the buckle aside.  Even if the leather were past salvaging, a Dunlending would have saved the buckle to sell or trade or reuse.  The Men of Dunland waste nothing."

"Aye," agreed Elrohir.  "It is said that when they slaughter a hog, they use everything but the squeal."

Men, but not Dunlendings.  Surely neither Men of Rohan or of Gondor, for those folk had no reason to avoid Elrond's realm.  Southrons, then, Men from the dread realm of Harad.  The three Elves shuddered slightly, for they had all at one time or another fallen captive to Southrons or their allies and endured cruel treatment at their hands.

Quietly, and with determination, the Elves once again mounted their horses.  It was vital that they uncover the destination of these Men.

For several more days the Elves followed the trail north.  At last, once the trail had reached a point well to the north of Imladris, the Men had turned west.  Having journeyed outside of but parallel to Imladris as they came north, the Men were now riding outside of but parallel to the borders as they headed west.  The Elves thought that, once safely past Elrond's realm, the Men might come far enough south to take to the Great East Road, where their path would be easier.  Instead, the Men's trail ran parallel to the East Road but distant enough so that no one traveling that road would have spotted the strangers.

"They are probably making for Weathertop, as those other Southrons did, the ones that Glorfindel and Aragorn slew when you accompanied Glorfindel on that scouting mission to Bree-land," said Elrohir.

"Aye, and we shall have to be careful," warned Anomen, "for Weathertop will give them a commanding view of the country thereabouts.  Glorfindel told me that it is possible to approach Weathertop in secret from the west, as he and Aragorn did, but he knows nothing of the land to the east."

"From Erestor's maps," Elladan pointed out, "the terrain looks to be very broken.  Even if the Men of old did not construct a hidden approach from the east, we may be able to piece together our own secret way by relying upon natural features alone."

"Let us hope so," said Anomen.

Elladan proved to be right.  In the end, however, it did not matter, for by the time the Elves arrived at Weathertop, the Men had already abandoned it.  The Elves looked about the abandoned campsite in disgust.  Gnawed bones and abandoned rags were scattered about, and the wood pile had not been replenished.  Anomen wrinkled his nose.

"What is that awful odor?"

"I think," replied Elrohir, "that these Men made water against the stones of the fire ring!"

Horrified, the Elves looked at each other.  Fires were for cooking and warmth.   One never relieved oneself into a fire ring!

"I hope it rains several times before any Ranger returns to Weathertop," said Anomen fervently.  "I would hate to think of our friend Halbarad arriving tired and hungry and not being able to use the fire ring."

"Let us replace the stones of the fire ring," suggested Elladan.

 Elrohir shook his head.  "Nay, 'twould do no good.  The odor is in the very earth itself." 

"At least we can gather and stack more wood," said Anomen.

"And hope that the Southrons don't return here before Halbarad does—else all our labor will be for naught," said Elrohir gloomily.

"Anyway, we now can be sure that they _are_ Southrons," said Elladan.

"Aye," agreed Anomen.  "No Ranger would have left such a mess."

"Nor would a Man of Rohan or of Gondor," added Elrohir.

Working quickly, the Elves tossed the detritus over the edge of the hill on the east side and scoured the slopes and foot of the hill for wood.  Then they rode off to set up camp in the copse where Hugo the Smith and his confederates had once dragged the captive Anomen.  For all the evil memories of that place, Anomen much preferred camping there than in the proximity of the befouled fire ring.  Elladan and Elrohir of course had no objections at all.  They spent most of the night in reasonable comfort, but before dawn, they had reason to be glad that they had chosen the relative cover of the trees.  It began to rain.

"You got your wish, Anomen," muttered Elrohir as he helped the others make shift to build a shelter out of cloaks spread over brush.  "Weathertop will be cleansed."

"Oh, we all needed to bathe," replied Anomen airily.

"_You may have needed to bathe," Elrohir shot back.  "__I didn't."_

Elladan laughed.  "Anomen _always_ needs to bathe."

"And as a result I _never need to bathe," retorted Anomen cheerfully, "whilst you and Elrohir always do."  For centuries Elrohir told been telling all and sundry that Anomen bore into every battle a 'personal dirt shield', and it is true that Anomen had an uncanny ability to come through each skirmish untouched by blood and grime.  Anomen, however, had long since learned to be untroubled by this and similar gibes over the cleanliness of his person._

Soon, however, even Anomen's ability to stave off dirt was to be challenged, for the Men's trail led the Elves into the Midgewater Marshes.  Ai!  These Men must have been very eager to avoid detection for them to have chosen such a route.

"Burzum!" swore Elrohir, swatting at the midges that swarmed round his head.  He looked around guiltily.

"Don't worry," snicked Elladan.  "Erestor is not around to chide you."

Elrohir blushed momentarily but then grinned.  Throwing back his head, he shouted "Burzum" as loudly as he could.

"Burzum!  Burzum!" echoed Elladan and Anomen.  "Burzum!  Burzum!"

"If you don't stop that," growled a voice, "I'll send you all to 'Burzum'!"

Suddenly feeling no older than elflings, the three Elves spun in the direction of the voice, drawing their swords as they did so.  There stood a Ranger looking at them sardonically.

"Halbarad," gasped Anomen.  "How long have you known that we were here?"

"Oh," said the Dunadan casually, "I picked up your trail at Weathertop two days ago.  By the way, you had better not be the ones who made water in the fire ring."

"Oh, no!" Elladan assured the Ranger.  "It was the Southrons."

"Good.  Was it the Southrons who replenished the wood pile?"

"No! No!" cried Elladan.  "_We_ did that!"

Halbarad smiled.  "I know," he said gently.  "Now, tell me, what do you here?  'Tis not a pleasant place for Elves.  For one thing, it is very difficult to keep clean in this mire," he said, grinning at Anomen.

"We are following a party of Southrons, possibly as many as five, for that is the number of their horses," replied Anomen, unfazed by the Ranger's teasing.

"Aye, so I saw from their tracks at Weathertop.  But Weathertop is a long way from Imladris."

"They drew near the border of Imladris—much too close for comfort.  That is how they came to our attention," said Elrohir.

"Ah, I see.  Well, now that I have revealed my presence to you, would you mind if I joined your patrol?  I, too, have an interest in determining the destination of these Haradrim."

The Elves were delighted and eagerly assured the Ranger that they would be delighted to number him amongst their party.

"Good," he said placidly, "for I can show you a better route through the Midgewater Marshes.  Indeed, the path that you are now on will reach a dead end in ten miles or so.  You would have had to retrace your steps and try another path—with no certainty that it would be the right one either."

"We were following the Southrons," said Elrohir a trifle defensively.

"Yes, and I am sure that they likewise had to retrace their steps several times before they escaped these voracious midges.  Shall we move on?"

Chastened, the Elves nodded their heads and fell in behind Halbarad.  With the Ranger in the lead, they were soon on the right path—and none too soon, averred Elladan.

"If these midges do not stop feeding upon me, I will shortly be drained as bloodless as a wraith!"

Halbarad spun around, his face angry.  "That is no subject for witticism," he hissed.

The Elves were taken aback.  They had never seen Halbarad so moved.  But he had good reason, they realized.  His kindred had been at war with the forces of the Dark Lord since the death of Isildur.

"I am sorry," said Elladan simply.

Halbarad relaxed.  "Thank you," he replied with equal directness.  Then he nodded at the Elves and returned his attention to picking out the path from the muck that surrounded them.

Gradually the ground grew higher and drier, and at long last they left the Midgewater Marshes behind them.  The trail of the Southrons was once again easy to follow, although their quarry was still avoiding the Great East Road.  This surprised no one.  If the Southrons had opted for the Midgewater Marshes over the Road, then they were hardly going to abandon secrecy now when the going was so much easier than it had been in the mire.

Onward the trail went, heading steadily west.  At last the searchers drew near Bree-land, and the trail moved slightly further to the north, making a loop that would have kept the Southrons well away from the villages of Archet, Combe, Straddle, and Bree.  Elves and Ranger kept a sharp lookout for signs that the Southrons had rendezvoused with any of the local Men.  But they saw no tracks that joined those of the Southrons.  Nor did they see evidence that any of the Southrons had headed into Bree-land.  At last the trail had led them quite past the region in which Men had settled.  Elves and Ranger stopped to consider this curious state of affairs.

"I think," said Anomen slowly, "it is now clear that these Men had planned all along to bypass Bree-land."

"But for what other settlement could they be making, then?" asked Elladan.  "There are no other villages hereabouts."

"No other settlements of Men, true," observed Halbarad.  "But perhaps they are headed for the Shire."

"The Shire?" echoed Elrohir.  "But there are no Men there—that is the land of the Periannath.  What would they there?"

"Gandalf finds the Shire to be of great interest," Anomen pointed out.  "Mayhap the same thing that draws Gandalf draws these Men."

"But Gandalf visits the Shire openly," argued Elladan.  "These Men seem bent on secrecy."

"I said mayhap the same thing draws these Men; I did not say the same motive."

"A subtle distinction," said Halbarad, "but an important one."

"What should we do now?" asked Elrohir.  "Continue to trail them?  Confront them?"

Halbarad shook his head.  "On what grounds?  They have as much right to be in these lands as you Elves do.  No, I think you should hasten back to Rivendell to inform Gandalf that a party of Men is traveling secretly in the direction of the Shire.  He would want to take the matter in hand, I am sure."

"Halbarad is right," agreed Elladan.  "Let us make camp, and in the morning set out toward home."

"No," objected Anomen, the only one of the Elves to have visited the land of the Periannath.  "That would leave the Halflings unprotected against whatever ill these Southrons plan!"  He could not bear the thought of Merry and his other Periannath friends falling to Southron swords.

"Even against Halflings, five Men—if there are even that many—would hardly be enough for a war party," Halbarad pointed out.  "These Southrons most likely come as spies.  Although I do not know why, someone has decided that the Shire bears watching.  You, Anomen, are no doubt right.  Gandalf's interest in the Shire is now matched by another's.  That is why Gandalf should be alerted at the earliest opportunity."

"But—"

Halbarad gestured for Anomen to be still.

"I said that _you should return to Rivendell.  I did not say that I would.  Rest assured that the spies will be spied upon.  And I have no doubt that, once Gandalf receives word of this matter, I shall be joined by other watchers—Men, birds, and beasts."_

Anomen nodded, still reluctant to turn back but relieved that the Shire would not be left unguarded.

"Very well, Halbarad.  We will hasten to Rivendell and let Gandalf know how things stand."

Anomen did not sleep well that night.  He forbode that something was in the offing, something dreadful.  Again and again he began to doze only to jerk awake.  It seemed to him, as he at last drifted into sleep, that something huge, shadowy, and winged was blotting out the stars, plunging the world into darkness whilst harsh and gloating voices shrieked, 'burzum! burzum!'


	5. Laketown

_Ky_: _Elrond isn't going to want Anomen anywhere near Rivendell when the Greenwood contingent shows up.  (On the other hand, where Elrond wants Anomen to be is not always where Anomen ends up, is it?)_

_Konzen__:  First the veiled threats over length; now the veiled threats over pace of posting!  EEEEEEEP! Help me!  Help me, somebody!  (Author scurries into witness protection program & begins churning out heavy-duty crossover slash.  Our beloved Elf is last seen hanging upside down in the lair of a vampire as Captain Barbossa approaches with monkey on back.  Eeeeeew!)  ^_^_

_Farflung__: Yes, the 'burzum' episode did not exactly showcase our Elves' maturity, but, hey, everyone regresses from time to time.  Heck, this entire series represents some serious regression on my part.  I'm a middle-aged woman with a teenaged daughter, for cryin' out loud!  On a serious note, yes, it is Anomen's unique background that inoculates him, so to speak, against being infected by Saruman—plus a little help from Auntie Galadriel, of course._

_Jebb__: The terrible threesome could still use the guidance of someone like Halbarad, although Elrond's confidence in them is by no means misplaced.  As for Erestor, he brings it down on himself half the time._

_Joee__: Dang, you are two steps ahead.  O.K., O.K., Anomen ends up back in the Shire.  However, he doesn't get there the way you think he does, and once he gets there something really surprising (and shocking) happens.  So there!_

Vocabulary

Dagormaenas—'Battle Craft'

Tawarmaenas—'Forest Craft'

Thranduil, Tawarmaenas, and their escort were drawing near to Lake-town.

"The town now flourishes," said Thranduil, "but you will still see some signs of the damage wrought by Smaug the Golden, greatest of dragons."

"The dragon whose death led to the march of the elven army upon the Lonely Mountain," said Tawarmaenas eagerly.  He had not yet recovered from his astonishment and delight at how forthcoming his uncle had become.  On this journey, Thranduil had talked to him more than during all the long years combined since his arrival at the Great Hall as a frightened elfling.  Still, Tawarmaenas did not think he could ever tire of listening to the King's tales of Greenwood and its Elves.

"Yes, although events began several weeks before the felling of Smaug by the archer Bard.  We were drawn into the affair when a band of Dwarves attempted to pass through our realm without so much as a by-your-leave!  Of course," Thranduil conceded, mellowing a little, "Mithrandir did tell me later that the Dwarves set out with every intention of keeping to the Old Forest Road, which by treaty was to be trod freely by all and sundry.  Still, when we captured them, they were most certainly _not_ on the Road!  In fact, they had repeatedly interrupted a celebration we were trying to hold in honor of our victory at Dol Guldur."

Tawarmaenas remembered that night—one of the few celebrations that he had ever attended during his stay in Greenwood and those dratted Dwarves had kept leaping into the circle of light!  How vexed he had been when the festivities were halted so that the Dwarves could be rounded up and marched back to the Great Hall.  Still, the Dwarves had broken the monotony of life in the Hall, no doubt about that.  Tawarmaenas had had the fun of creeping into the King's presence chamber so that he could witness Thranduil's interrogation of their unwanted visitors.  They had been exotic, those Dwarves—uncouth and ungainly and garbed most strangely.  They had beards beyond anything he had seen on the chins of the Men who journeyed from Esgaroth on diplomatic or trading missions.  Still, there had been something noble in the bearing of one of them, bedraggled as he was—Thorin Oakenshield his name had been, and Tawarmaenas had felt strangely sorry when he had been told that this Dwarf had died of his wounds in the Battle of the Five Armies.

"Now, these thirteen Dwarves in fact may not have been the only trespassers in our realm," Thranduil was continuing.  "We have never been able to account for the Dwarves getting out of their cells.  Someone must have unlocked the doors, and it is true that the Dwarves were accompanied by another when they arrived in Lake-town—a creature smaller than a Dwarf, one of the Periannath.  Gilglîr is convinced that this Perian somehow crept into the Great Hall and skulked about biding his time until he saw an opportunity to free his confederates.  Because of his small size, no doubt he was able to conceal himself.  Gilglîr is right of course—there can be no other way to account for matters, I think."

"But you are quite certain of how they escaped the Hall altogether, isn't that true?"

"Aye," said Thranduil grimly, "with the inadvertent help of a drunken butler!  The Elves who cast the empty—supposedly empty, that is—casks and barrels into the river all agree that several of the casks were unusually heavy that night, and the river Elves who assembled and poled the rafts say so as well.  Those Dwarves floated on their merry way into Lake-town, where the Master, that old fool, welcomed them and gave them the wherewithal to continue their journey.  So off to the Lonely Mountain they promenaded, where all they succeeded in doing was riling up old Smaug, who swooped down upon Lake-town and burned it to the ground.  Were it not for Bard the Bowman, the dragon would have returned to his mountain, and those Dwarves would have been eaten for his dessert that night.  Aye, the worm would have cleaned its teeth with their bones!"

"Then the men of Lake-town went to claim their share of the dragon's hoard, didn't they!?"

"Aye, and rightly so, as one of their own had felled the murderous worm.   And, as the Dwarves had not been able to reach the Lonely Mountain without violating our territory, we marched as well to demand recompense."

"But an army of Dwarves appeared unexpectedly to reinforce the adventurers!"

"Yes, but Elves and Men were not about to back down.  It looked as if battle amongst the Free Peoples was about to be joined."

"And that," said Tawarmaenas triumphantly, "was when the Perian revealed itself!"

"Himself—they are Free People as well, even if we had hitherto thought them to be no more than figures of legend.  Yes, the little fellow had made off with a gem much valued by Thorin Oakenshield, and to recover it the Dwarf conceded a share of the wealth—it was the share that had been promised to the Perian, mind you.  That little fellow was small in body but great in spirit, for he was willing to sacrifice his deservéd reward to save the lives of folk who were not even his kin."

"But everything changed of a sudden."

"Aye, an army of Goblins hove into view, and all Free Folk had to set aside their differences to answer this new peril."

"And so began the battle of the Five Armies!"

"Yes," said Thranduil.  "And all—Elf, Dwarf, and Man—fought valiantly until the foe had been driven off.  When it came to it, our differences were petty, and we remembered what was important.  In the gray dawn that followed the battle, the gold and jewels did not seem as shiny, and the treasure was divided fairly without further argument.  The Free Peoples should always be quick to remember that more unites them than divides them.  Indeed," Thranduil added thoughtfully, "Elven kind should keep that in mind as well.  I have been sundered too long from my kindred in Lothlórien—and from those in Imladris even more so!"

By this time they had come within sight of Lake-town.  Thranduil had spoken truly, for the pilings of the old town, blackened by fire, could still be seen to the south of the new town that lay higher up upon the shore.

"I have been told," said Thranduil, "that the skeleton of the old worm may still be seen in the clear depths of the water, surrounded by the jewels that fell from his rotting carcass.  If you like, I shall ask the Lake-men to row you out to the spot so that you may look upon the wreckage of the beast."

"Oh, yes, uncle," replied Tawarmaenas eagerly.  "I should very much like to see the bones of the old dragon."

"Well, then," said Thranduil obligingly, "I shall arrange it."

Tawarmaenas shivered with delight.  Dragon bones, the fabled Smaug's no less!

As they spoke, a delegation from Esgaroth was approaching.  King and heir dismounted, handing their reins to their escorts, and walked forward to be formally welcomed by the chief Men of the Kingdom of Dale.  It was easy to pick out their King, although not because of any sumptuous clothing, for his garments were indistinguishable from those of his subjects.  No, it was the confident, dignified bearing of the tall, dark-haired human that marked him as a leader among Men.

"Hail, Thranduil son of Oropher, King of Greenwood," proclaimed this monarch, inclining his head slightly, as befitted one king greeting another.

"Hail, Bard son of Brand, King of Dale," replied Thranduil, likewise inclining his head.  "Allow me, if you would, to present to you Tawarmaenas son of Dagormaenas, my nephew and heir to the throne of Greenwood."

"You are welcome here, Tawarmaenas son of Dagormaenas.  Allow me to present my son Bain, heir to the throne of Dale."

Ai! It would not be too long before Bain would be forced to ascend to the throne of Dale, for Bard would fall alongside King Dáin II, called Ironfoot, before the gate of Erebor, fighting the forces of the Dark Lord in the North even as others were challenging those forces in the south.

But no one could have guessed at this future on that day of merriment.  The Men of Lake-town were anxious to demonstrate their regard for their guests by feasting and entertaining them to the very limits of their wealth and hospitality, for they had never forgotten the compassion shown them by the Elves of Greenwood after their town had been destroyed by Smaug.  Many would have died during that grievous time had it not been for the Fair Folk.  The Elves had helped the Men build shelters against the bitter cold, and they had quickly and generously sent such provisions as they had on hand to keep the people from starving.  Thranduil had faults aplenty, as he himself was beginning to freely acknowledge, but he did not altogether lack empathy; nor had he even during those dark days when he had not yet become reconciled to the supposed death of his son.  Indeed, there were even some Dwarves who were later to grudgingly concede that at his hands they had been fed well enough whilst imprisoned in his dungeons—although it took a lot of prodding on the part of a certain wizard to force said Dwarves to make that admission.

A pavilion had been raised upon the shore, and the visitors were escorted to it with much shouting and singing.  Once inside, they were seated at the head table and treated to such a feast that even a Hobbit would have been impressed at the abundance of the food and drink that flowed into the pavilion without ceasing.  Tawarmaenas was daunted at the sight of so much food and feared he would offend by being unable to eat it all.

"Eat a bite or two of each dish," whispered Thranduil to his nephew.  "That's how it's done.  Just a bite or two—that's all that's necessary.  Then you praise it extravagantly and declare that you are immoderately eager to try the next dish, which will surely be _extraordinary_, given the food you have already tasted."

Relieved, Tawarmaenas did as he was bidden and was soon being commended for his excellent manners as he graciously sampled each dish that was placed before him, slighting not a one of the cooks who hovered about apprehensive lest their creations be found wanting.  Thranduil smiled proudly at his nephew.  

"I know I have neglected your upbringing, my son, but one would never know it, for you deport yourself in quite the royal fashion!"

  Tawarmaenas returned his uncle's smile.  He knew he would never be king, but he appreciated Thranduil's praise nonetheless.  Besides, Tawarmaenas thought to himself, as Laiqua's cousin no doubt he would be sent on diplomatic missions from time to time.  As such, he would need to carry himself as befits a member of the royal family and a representative of the king.  Yes, even knowing that there was no throne in his future, Tawarmaenas could still happily accept Thranduil's compliments.

The next day Thranduil was occupied with trade negotiations.  Thranduil explained to Tawarmaenas that, no matter how amiable the relations between allies, it was always best to spell out such matters as how much the tariff was on such and such a vegetable.   Indeed, suggested the King, mayhap Dale and Greenwood continued on such good terms because they _had_ always taken care to duly record each and every article of their treaties so that there was no occasion for dispute.

"The Men of Lake-town freely express their gratitude for the aid they received from us in those difficult days after the destruction of their town.  However, make no mistake about it, my son: their memories may quickly grow faulty if we should happen to disagree over a tariff.  In their minds, the barrels of flour that we sent may dwindle into a few paltry sacks—weevil-ridden, too, no doubt!"

In spite of the fact that Thranduil was preoccupied with matters of trade, he did not forget his promise to his nephew that he would arrange for him to see the skeleton of Smaug.  He asked King Bard if he might have the use both of a boat and of a Man skilled in boat-handling.  The King graciously assigned to his own son the task of rowing Tawarmaenas to the spot in the lake beneath which lay the bones of the worm.

Bain son of Bard proved to be an excellent companion.  He had been a child when the dragon had attacked Lake-town, but one old enough to remember clearly the events of that night.

"Had I not understood the danger, I would have called the sight of the onrushing dragon beautiful, for he glowed like a meteor shooting across the sky.  But there was little time for such thoughts.  Lads of my age—aye, and lasses, too—were hauling water with buckets, pots, kettles, any vessel that would hold water.  Frantically we tried to soak the walls and roofs of our houses.  I remember seeing a toddler carrying a goblet, so desperate we were to wet down the dwellings.  Alas! It was all for naught, so fiercely burned the fire within that dragon.  Even in his death throes he rained fiery destruction upon us, for his body crashed upon the town itself, and all that had survived the first onslaught collapsed then and was consumed in the flames."

Tawarmaenas let out a breath.  "How was it that you escaped the destruction?"

"My father perceived that our efforts were unavailing.  He ran to where I was casting water upon the wall of our house, seized me, and threw me into the lake.  He had only one arrow left at that point.  I did not see what happened next, of course, but he later told me that a bird suddenly appeared and alerted him to a gap in Smaug's armor.  He watched for this weak point and aimed for it, thus felling the dragon.  Some people hereabouts scoff at that claim and say that my father was just lucky, that it was a random shot.  I, however, believe him," declared Bain proudly.

Tawarmeanas nodded.  "Aye.  Your father speaks the truth.  It is well known among the Elves that some Men still have the ability to converse with bird and beast.  Lesser Men cannot, and unable to understand bird and beast themselves, they assume no one can."

Bain smiled at the Elf.  It was good to hear a stranger say those words.  He had endured some taunting from the young of his own kind.

"Sometimes," the human confided to the Elf, "I think that I, too, have the gift of understanding bird and beast.  I am not yet sure, but on several occasions I have acted upon what I have sensed from a bird or a beast and my choices have always proved to be good ones."

"Then you have inherited your father's greatness, and you may look forward to being a king of reknown."

Bain sighed.  "That's an odd phrase: 'look forward to'.  It is hard to anticipate becoming king when it means that my father shall have died.  Doesn't it trouble you that your uncle must die for you to become king?"

"Sometimes an Elf takes the throne not when the previous king dies but when that monarch decides to abdicate and sail to the Undying Lands.  In my case, however," added Tawarmaenas cheerfully, "it does not matter how long Thranduil stays on the throne, for I shall never be king."

Puzzled, Bain stared at him.  "But you are Thranduil's heir."

"Yes, but not the only one."

Now Bain was truly confused.  "Your pardon, but I had understood that you were the last of his kin."

Tawarmaenas shook his head.  "No.  There is another.  But mayhap it is best that it not be spoken of."

"Aaah."  Bain thought that he understood.  In these perilous times, Thranduil had wisely chosen to keep a potential heir safely hidden.  It was not unheard of for a monarch to do so.  Well, he would say nothing more of the matter.

By now Bain had rowed the boat to the site of the old town.  He shipped the oars, and they floated, peering over the sides of the boat.

"There."  Bain pointed.  "Just there."

Tawarmaenas gasped.  Smaug had been immense!  Now he could well appreciate the terror the people had felt as the flaming dragon had hurtled toward their town.  He could also see how, from a certain point of view, the dragon might have been beautiful.  The remains of the beast were outlined by the jewels that had fallen from the rotting carcass, gems that no Man dared retrieve, so great was the fear still inspired by the worm.  Tawarmaenas could imagine how the fiery beast must have glittered and sparkled as it soared overhead.  Curious, he thought, how a thing so evil could at the same time have been so awe-inspiring.

Deep in thought, Tawarmaenas sat quietly as Bain rowed the boat back to shore.  The human grew worried at his silence.

"Are you well, Tawarmaenas?  Does something trouble you?'

"Yes.  No.  Well, yes, but no.  I am merely musing on how complicated things have turned out.  I suppose they will always be complicated."

"I do not understand."

"Oh, you said a while back that it was hard to look forward to being king because it would mean the death of your own father.  Sometimes things are all mixed together, the good and the ill, as if you can't have one without the other." Tawarmaenas gave an embarrassed laugh.  "I suppose I sound foolish."

Bain shook his head.

"No, that makes perfect sense.  Sometimes it seems as if the most dreadful thing in the world has just happened, but then it turns out that if it hadn't happened, something wonderful wouldn't have happened.  That's a very tangled thought," the human apologized, "but I couldn't figure out how else to say it."

"You, too, make perfect sense," Tawarmaenas hastened to reassure him.  "Lately I have had the oddest dream, and now I begin to understand it.  A little figure is toiling, toiling, in great pain and agony, carrying a great burden—and somehow we are all going to benefit from his suffering."

Bain looked at him gravely.  "It may be a portent, a vision of things yet to come."

"Yes, I both fear and hope that it is—a vision of both the good and ill so inextricably entangled that the knots binding them can never be undone."

"A beautiful but deadly dragon," said Bain softly.

"Aye.  Beautiful but deadly."


	6. A Basket In The River

_Kitsune__ and_ dd9736: _Thank you.  I hope you both enjoy today's update._

_Ky_: _Please, not Mary Sues—anything but that!  ^_^_

_Farflung__: I want to keep working with the idea of intermingled loss and gain because that seems emblematic of the conclusion of the LOTR—Frodo losing the Shire so that Middle Earth can be preserved for others.  Bilbo sacrificing his share of the treasure for others seems to anticipate the later actions of his nephew—at least that's the direction I want the story to take._

_Konzen__: _Name_ starts with 'F', wears something on his finger—why, whatever gave you _that_ idea!?   ^_^_

_Jebb__: _I like that phrase—'homage to the Hobbit'.  Thank you.

_Karri: _I think Tawarmaenas is being well-equipped for life in general.  The skills and attitudes Thranduil is encouraging would serve anyone well in any situation.

_Joee__: _Finally you are going to find out how Anomen ends up in the Shire once again!

Vocabulary

Fleischer—'Butcher' (German)

Verräter—'Traitor' (German)

Anomen had been so distressed by his dream that the next morning he resolved to tell Halbarad that he was going on to the Shire with or without the blessing of the Ranger.  Of course, it would be best if he did have Halbarad's approval, so first he would seek to gain it.

"Halbarad," he began over breakfast, "it is of course necessary that someone return to Rivendell to carry word to Gandalf that the Shire may be in peril."

"Yes, but we have already agreed upon that.  I will go on to the Shire to keep watch upon the Southrons; you Elves will return to Imladris."

"We Elves be three in number.  It takes not three to carry a message, especially now, when we have done tracking the Southrons and the messengers can take to the Great East Road and travel rapidly and in relative safety."

"And your point is?" said Halbarad, the ghost of a smile flickering briefly upon his weather-beaten face.

"Elladan and Elrohir may carry the message.  I should go on with you—after all," Anomen added quickly as he saw Halbarad move to speak, "there may be as many as five of them.  What if the Southrons split up once they reach the Shire?  Not even a Dunadan can spy upon five at once!"

"Well reasoned, young one," said Halbarad dryly, "although I suspect you have a motive in addition to this noble one that you have advanced."

Anomen blushed.  "It is true," he admitted, "that I should like to see Merry and the others once again."

"I have heard the tale of how, when an elfling, you accompanied Glorfindel to Bree-land and, ah, took the initiative to go on to Buckland.  You met Merry then, is that not so?"

"Yes."

"A very long time ago, was it not?'

"Yes.  As you say, I was an elfling."

"Anomen," Halbarad said gently, "the Periannath have not the gift of immortality.  It is rare for one to approach even the lifespan of the lesser of the Dúnadain."

 Stunned, Anomen gazed at the Ranger, who looked upon him with compassion.

"You must console yourself with this thought, Anomen.  It is the way of the Periannath to die after a lifespan that would seem short even to a Man of the North.  But it is also their way to have children, many more children than Elves.  The Periannath enjoy their lives fully—their gardens and their fields and, above all, their children—and then they pass on, happy in the knowledge that other Periannath will have their opportunity to take pleasure, however brief, in Middle Earth.  Your Merry is gone, but another Merry came after him, and then another.  Even today, somewhere in the Shire a Merry frolics and looks upon Middle Earth with wonder for to him everything is but newly created.  And in time to come, yet another Merry will play truant in the fields, birds nesting and berrying.  This is the way of the mortal races, and the wise among them find joy rather than sorrow in their mortality, which for them is as much a gift as immortality is to the Elves." 

Anomen nodded.

"I am glad you understand.  Let us break camp now," said Halbarad, "and I will make for the Shire, you for Rivendell."

"Halbarad."

"Yes."

"I still want to accompany you to the Shire."

"But I have said that your friend Merry has passed on."

"Yes, and you have also said that another Merry awaits me.  Also, it is still true that there may be as many as five Southrons, while you are only one Ranger.  However skillful and wise, one Dunadan cannot be in more than one place at a time—such a trick would defeat even the magic of Mithrandir!"

"Oh, I would not be sure of that," said Halbarad.  "He may have more than one means of seeing.  However, I am no wizard, and although you are stubborn, perhaps you are right.  If the Southrons split up, I will indeed be forced to follow one group, and things may go ill if I choose the wrong one.  Very well, since you are so eager to go to the Shire, and since you can make a case for your usefulness, you and I will journey on together.  I only hope Elrond is not angered!  He sent you Elves out together, and he may expect you to return together.  I should not wish to lose his good opinion."

"Our father neither lightly bestows nor revokes his good opinion," said Elladan.

Halbarad laughed.  "No, the Elves are not hasty people, least of all your father.  I shall trust to that fact.  Well, enough speech.  If words were steps, we would already be well on our way to our respective destinations."

They broke camp, and Anomen entrusted his horse to his foster-brothers.  Halbarad had been on foot, and he pointed out to Anomen that a horse was rather a large item to be concealed if they had to dodge Southrons.  As they walked along, Halbarad also warned him that this would not be a pleasure jaunt.

"When you visited Buckland with Gandalf, you went openly.  Now you come as a spy.  You cannot show yourself.  Even if you should see your 'Merry', you cannot greet him, let alone go swimming or boating with him.  Do you understand?  Perhaps more important, will you be able to obey this order?"

"Yes and yes."

"Will wonders never cease!?" said Halbarad, giving way to a full-fledged grin.  "This day will be recorded in the annals of the Third Age!"

Swiftly Anomen stooped and seized upon a dirt clod.  With the accuracy of a Halfling, he released it, hitting Halbarad on the side of the head.  Halbarad was so startled that he stumbled and fell.

"Now," Anomen laughed, "you can add another event to the annals of the Third Age: a Dunadan felled by the weapon of a Perian."

Laughing likewise, Halbarad arose and dusted himself off.

"If the Periannath are so resourceful, then mayhap some day they will fell enemies of note.  I begin to understand why Gandalf has such respect for those little folk!"

As they walked on, Anomen realized that they were no longer attempting to follow the trail of the Southrons but were veering toward the Old Forest.

"Halbarad," said the Elf, "why are we heading toward the Forest instead of following the Southrons?"

"To avoid attracting attention, Gandalf lately has been entering the Shire by entering Buckland and thence crossing the Brandywine.  I have been thinking that, if the Southrons mean to enter the Shire, they will do the same, for if they try to cross the border at the Great East Road, they would likely be questioned at the least and mayhap even turned away."

"But why not just follow them to see if they do?"

"If the Southrons do intend to enter the Shire proper, we must do more than spy; we must head them off.  I do not think Gandalf would want them to reach Hobbiton!  We must thus make our way to Buckland as quickly as we may so that one of us may watch the Bucklebury Ferry, the other the Brandywine Bridge.  Even if they do not try to cross the Brandywine, those are the places that they would head for so that they themselves may observe who secretly enters and leaves the land of the Halflings.  They would have gone to Bree if they merely wanted to gather news of those who openly enter and leave the Shire, for they could learn that information in comfort whilst nursing a pint of beer."

"We may have trouble getting through the Old Forest," Anomen warned.

"Oh, I think not," said Halbarad calmly.  I am acquainted with most of the trees.  There are some vines that are a bit malicious, and you do have to watch out for this one particular—"

"—willow tree?"

"Yes," said Halbarad.  "You are acquainted with Old Man Willow?"

"I met him when he was a bad-tempered sapling.  So he has not improved with age?"

"No, he has not," said the Ranger, shaking his head.  "If anything, his belligerence has grown over the years.  Even Gandalf has had a few run-ins with the old stick.  Indeed, he said something about his beard getting caught last time he came through.  I believe I heard him exclaim that he was on the verge of hacking it short when Tom Bombadil finally came by and told the tree off."

Anomen laughed at the thought of Gandalf with his beard in tatters.

"Do not laugh!  You may lose your braids if you tread too lightly in the Old Forest!"

Anomen immediately grew serious.  He had lost his hair too many times to the twin sons of Elrond to want to tempt fate in the form of a bad-tempered willow tree. 

As it happens, however, they encountered no trouble from either tree or vine, and Halbarad quickly led Anomen to the same gate that Gandalf had used to let them into Buckland so many years earlier.  The hedge was very thick now, so it was good that Halbarad had the key to unlock the gate.

"Gandalf entrusted this key to me not so long ago and made me promise that I would make it a regular practice to check on the safety of the Shire."

Curious, thought Anomen.  Gandalf must surely have had some idea that the Shire would draw the Enemy, else he would not have extracted that pledge from Halbarad.

Halbarad and Anomen came first to the site of the Bucklebury Ferry.  They saw no sign that the Southrons had passed that way yet, so they found cover and settled in to keep watch.  As night neared, they heard the sound of hoofbeats, and soon after the Southrons rode into view.  There were three of them.  Besides their mounts, they had two packhorses.  The Haradrim stopped within earshot of Halbarad and Anomen.

"You stay here, Fleischer," said one of the Men, the leader apparently.  "Keep out of sight and take careful notice of all who enter and leave the Shire at this place.  Remember that you must particularly watch for the wizard!  If we can bring word of his doings, we will be paid well.  If we can follow him to his destination, even better!"

"We are not to try to capture him?" asked Fleischer.

"No," said the leader, shaking his head.  "I suspect the master hopes that, if we watch the wizard long enough, he will lead us to a great treasure.  After he's led us to the hoard, then mayhap we are to kill or capture him, but I have no such orders at the present."  The leader turned to the other Southron.

"Verräter, you and I will go to the Brandywine Bridge and lie in wait there."

Leaving Fleischer, his mount, and one of the packhorses, the other two Southrons rode off to the north.  After they were gone, Halbarad and Anomen slipped far enough away to safely hold a whispered conversation.

"Anomen," Halbarad said softly, "if Gandalf comes to either the bridge or the ferry, he must be warned that he is being watched.  You stay here at the ferry, and I will go on to the bridge."

Anomen nodded.  "Stay well, Halbarad."

"And you, my friend."

Halbarad vanished into the forest, and Anomen crept back to take up his post.

For the next fortnight, nothing noteworthy happened.  From time to time a Hobbit would cross the Brandywine.  The Southron would spy upon the Hobbit, and Anomen would spy upon the Southron.  A few times Halbarad came down from the north to exchange news with Anomen.

"The leader slips off each day to eavesdrop upon the Periannath near Brandy Hall.  When he returns, however, he tells his fellow spy nothing, so I do not know if he has learned anything of importance.  His companion speaks incessantly of the treasure that supposedly lies in the Shire, and I think the leader fears that he will turn traitor and try to make off with it if he learns where it lies hidden." Halbarad sighed.  "I am torn between remaining by the river and following the leader to find out what he has learned."  Halbarad shook his head in frustration.  "I suppose I should remain by the river.  I would not want Gandalf to cross in my absence."

 It was true that the leader did not trust his companion, and that was how it came to pass that it was Anomen who witnessed the attempt of a Southron to cross the Brandywine into the Shire proper.

It happened toward the end of one fine, sunny day.  Anomen heard hoofbeats and slipped as close as he could to the campsite of the Southron he had been watching.  The leader rode into view.

"Fleischer," he said brusquely, "from what I have lately overheard.  I think the wizard makes for a place called 'Hobbiton' whenever he visits the Shire.  I want you to slip across the river and make your way to that place.  Found out whatever you can about the wizard's friends in that place.  Where does he stay?  Whom does he visit?"

"How am I to get across without being seen?"

"Steal one of those boats that are drawn up on the bank downstream of the ferry.  When you have gotten to the other side, let the boat loose.  It will drift somewhere and eventually fetch up against the bank, and these foolish little folk will think that it merely got loose.  Return in a similar fashion, for I am sure there will be a boat or two pulled up on the other side of the river."

"What will you do in the meanwhile?"

"I will return to our camp in the north.  I do not wish Verräter to know that anything is up.  I don't trust him."

"Perhaps you and I should do away with him.  Then only the two of us will share the reward."

"Good point.  I will think on it.  For now, find out what you can."

The leader mounted his horse and rode off.  As soon as he was gone, Fleischer lengthened his horses' tethers so that they could reach fresh grass in his absence.  Then he broke camp, stuffing his belongings into his pack, and made for the river bank, Anomen following silently behind him.  He was going to have to stop the Southron from reaching Hobbiton, but how?  Should he slay him?

The Southron reached the bank and began to untie one of the boats.  Anomen reluctantly drew an arrow and nocked it.  Then he heard the sound of Hobbit voices, and to his relief, a pair of Hobbits, man and wife perhaps, the wife carrying a basket, came down to the bank.  So the Southron had been foiled without Anomen needing to take any action whatsoever.  Relieved, Anomen slipped the arrow back into his quiver.

"Drogo," exclaimed the Hobbit woman, "that Man is taking our boat!"

"Oh, we'll see about _that, Primula," Drogo exclaimed stoutly.  "Here, you, what are you doing with our boat!?"_

"As that runt has just pointed out," Southron replied rudely, "I am taking your boat—stealing it really, if you want to be precise."

"Well, you can just leave off stealing it," said Drogo indignantly.

Anomen wished he could show himself as the Southron continued to abuse the Halflings.

"You _will give me the boat, Shire rat.  In case you haven't noticed, I am larger than you, and I am armed."_

"You may be bigger than the two of us combined," replied Drogo bravely, "but a band of Hobbits would be more than enough to overwhelm the likes of you, and a band is just what I shall raise if you filch this boat.  Be off before you give me occasion to have the horn of Buckland sounded!"

"Ooooh," sneered the Southron.  "The horn of Buckland!  I tremble!"

Suddenly he reached forward and yanked the basket from Primula's hands.  Before anyone, Elf or Hobbit, could react, he had flung the basket into the river.

"My baby!" Primula screamed.  "My little Frodo!"

Both Hobbits turned their backs on the Southron, and he immediately pushed the two into the river.  They sank beneath the surface and then arose gasping.  Neither could swim but both valiantly attempted to dogpaddle in the direction of the basket.  But the water was cold and the current swift.  They were fast being overwhelmed by the power of the rushing river.

As soon as the Southron had pushed the Hobbits into the Brandywine, he had leaped into the boat, but the villain didn't get far.  Halbarad's warning that he must never show himself no longer seemed to matter, and Anomen leaped into the open, nocked an arrow, and shot the escaping spy.  The Southron toppled over and, weighed down by boots, cape, and sword, he sank immediately and never resurfaced.  His bones may lie to this day at the bottom of the Brandywine, unguessed at by the Hobbits who dwell placidly upon the river's bank.

The Southron disposed off, Anomen turned his attention to the Hobbits.  He cast off his cloak and threw aside his weapons.  Diving into the water, he swam as quickly as he could toward Drogo and Primula, but by the time he had reached the spot where they had been thrashing about, they had once again sunk beneath the water.  He was about to dive beneath the surface to search for them when he heard the cries of the baby.  Floating further downstream, the basket was getting soggy, and the infant, distressed at the touch of the cold water, had begun to cry.  Weeping because he could not save them all, Anomen left off searching for the two adults and made for the basket.

            After the basket was safely ashore, Anomen swam back to the spot where he had last seen the two adult Hobbits.  Again and again he dove down to feel his way along the bottom of the river.  At last he touched a hand.  Seizing it, he pulled the limp form of Drogo to the surface.  He knew that the Hobbit was past reviving, but he wanted his kinsmen to be able to recover the body and bid their relative farewell.  After pulling Drogo to the shore, Anomen dove back into the river to search for Primula.  The sun was westering when he at last found her body and returned to shore with it.  Shivering, Anomen wrapped himself in his cloak and hid in a tree to keep watch over the baby and his parents.  He did not want to leave until he was sure that they had been found.

Anomen kept watch until late into the night, all the while berating himself for his folly.  "I should have known," he whispered to himself, "I should have known that the Southron would kill anyone who saw him.  Of course he wouldn't leave any witnesses alive, for then the game would be up.  Why, why did I not shoot him straightaway?"  As Anomen brooded in this fashion, the weary hours dragged on until Hobbits from Brandy Hall finally began to scour the banks of the river.  Silently, Anomen added his tears to those of the searchers when they at last came upon the bodies of the adult Hobbits.  But at least Anomen could console himself that the Hobbits had some reason to rejoice when they discovered the basket, the baby inside sleeping peacefully, not yet aware that his entire future had just changed in the most radical fashion.

Descending at last from his hiding place in the tree, Anomen found that he was quite stiff from his long vigil.  Limping, his hair matted, his face muddy, the young Elf made his way toward Halbarad's camp, there to be greeted by the Ranger and—Gandalf!

"Oh, Gandalf," sobbed Anomen, flinging himself into the arms of the surprised wizard—surprised both because Anomen was never dirty and he never wept.  "Gandalf, the most awful thing has happened.  A Southron drowned two Hobbits.  I didn't save them, Gandalf.  I could have, but I didn't!"

Halbarad and Gandalf both suppressed gasps of horror.  It was necessary to stay calm for the sake of the distraught young Elf.  Gandalf rubbed Anomen's back soothingly, saying nothing until the young Elf began to master his emotions.  Then the wizard gently asked him if he could tell them what happened.

"The Southron was in his camp when a second spy arrived and told him that he must make his way to Hobbiton."

"Hobbiton," said Gandalf sharply.  "Are you sure?"

"Yes.  The second spy said he had come to believe that this was the place needed the most watching."

"This second spy, can you tell me aught of him?"

"Halbarad thinks he is the leader of the band."

Gandalf nodded.  "Go on."

"The spy went down to the river bank to steal a boat.  The Hobbits caught him taking their boat and began to argue with them.  It was a family, I think, husband, wife, and baby."

"Three Hobbits?  But you said two drowned?"

"Yes."

"Go on."

The Hobbits tried to stop the spy from stealing their boat, and, and, he grabbed the basket and threw it into the river!"

"The basket?"

"The baby was in the basket."

"I see."

The two Hobbits spun around toward the river, and the spy pushed them in!"

"And then?"

"The Southron jumped into the boat, but I shot him.  He fell into the water."

"His body," exclaimed Gandalf.  "What became of his body?"

"He sank immediately, and I never saw him again."

Gandalf relaxed.  "Good.  Continue."

"I dove into the water, but before I could reach Drogo and Primula, they had sunk as well."

Gandalf was startled.  "Drogo and Primula?  How did you know their names?'

"They addressed each other so.  And the baby's name is Frodo.  I heard the mother cry out its name when the Southron threw the basket into the river."

"His name," said Gandalf.  "Frodo is a boy.  Go on."

"The baby was crying, and I could see that the basket was beginning to sink, so I went after the basket instead of diving down for the parents.  After I had pulled it ashore, I resumed searching for Drogo and Primula.  After a long while, I found their bodies at the bottom of the river.  I drew them ashore, and then I hid nearby to be sure that searchers at least found the baby."

"Which they did?"

"Yes, and the bodies as well."

"Frodo son of Drogo," mused Gandalf.  "That would be the nephew of Bilbo Baggins," the wizard added thoughtfully.  "Curious coincidence, that."

 "Coincidence?"

"Nothing, my lad, nothing—only, I am very glad you were there, very glad, indeed."

"But I didn't save them, Gandalf!  I should have shot the Southron straightaway, but I waited too long.  I thought he would have to give over his plan of stealing the boat because the Hobbits weren't backing down.  I thought that would be the end of it for the time being.  I was wrong, Gandalf, and two are dead because I was wrong!"

"No, my lad," replied Gandalf calmly.  "Two are dead because they were murdered by a spy in the service of the Enemy.  One yet lives because he was rescued by a young one who had a great charge laid upon his shoulders and did as well as he could with the information he had at his disposal.  You cannot blame yourself for the deeds of the Enemy.  We hinder them as best we can, but when our foes succeed, the guilt lies upon their heads, not ours."

"Halbarad," said the Istar, turning to the Ranger, "can any more of your kin be spared for the watch upon the Shire?"

"It would seem that the Enemy has indeed taken an interest in this land," said the Dunadan gravely.  "Perhaps you know why, my friend, but I will not press you to explain.  It is enough that it is plain that the Enemy's forces must be countered.  Our numbers are few, and other regions will be subject to depredation if we concentrate our forces round the Shire.  Nevertheless, I shall send word to my kinsmen, and all who can be spared will take on this charge."

"I thank you, my friend," replied Gandalf, equally grave.  "I am afraid I have one more task I would lay upon you."

"Indeed," said the Ranger ironically.  "I am amazed.  Such a thing has never happened before."

Ranger and wizard shared a wry smile.  Then Gandalf sighed.

"The leader of this band of Southron spies seems much too clever by half.  I am afraid that I must ask you to arrange for him to have an accident, a serious accident, mind you."

"It will be as serious as I can contrive, I assure you.  But I have a boon I would ask you."

"Yes?"

"I would like him to look upon my face as he lies dying.  I do not wish to be an assassin who slips in and out of the shadows.  Would that be permitted?"

"Aye, as long as you are seen by no one else.  The watchers must not know that they are being watched."

"I will be discreet."

"I am sure of it, my friend."

Anomen had been listening bewildered to this entire conversation.  The Shire, which had once seemed such an innocent place, was wrapped up in a great mystery, one that had drawn the forces of the Enemy to its very borders.  Indeed, this day the Enemy had tried to penetrate those borders, with deadly results.

Gandalf turned toward the young Elf.

"Ah, my lad, your face is a study in curiosity—curiosity which I fear it will be your doom to suffer for yet a little while.  Your face is also a study in grime—and about that something may be done.  Wash your face, tidy your hair, eat your supper, and go to bed.  Tomorrow you and I shall set out for Imladris."

"Imladris!" cried Anomen indignantly.  "But why may I not continue to assist Halbarad in keeping watch on the Shire?  I am no elfling, even if you have just spoken to me as if I were."

"My pardon.  I did not mean to suggest such a thing.  But as you have heard, some of Halbarad's kin will be joining him, and even as we speak his eyes are being seconded by various of the birds and beasts that I called upon as I journeyed hence from Rivendell.  You have done a valiant deed today, but now your services are needed elsewhere, in the Misty Mountains, I think, if I heard Elrond correctly."

"The Misty Mountains?"

"Aye.  Thoron's patrol has found more tracks coming down from the mountains to the borders of Imladris—Orcs this time.  Elladan and Elrohir are to set out to reconnoiter, and Elrond wants you to accompany them.  There.  Does that bit of news assuage your hurt feelings at how I spoke to you just now?'

Anomen sighed.  "Very well, Gandalf, but I pray that you will think twice before you again tell me to 'go to bed' in such a peremptory fashion.

"Indeed I will.  Next time I will say something such as, 'so great is the task that you face on the morrow, that you should prepare for it by getting as much sleep as possible, as wise warriors are wont to do'.  Will that speech suffice?"

"Yes."

"Good.  Now go to bed."

"Gandalf!"

"I said the 'next time', did I not?  It is not yet the next time."

Halbarad shook his head, a slight smile upon his face.  "Gandalf, will you never leave off tormenting the young one?"

"I am allowed very few pleasures in my life," said Gandalf with mock gravity.  "Tormenting the young is one of them.  Pray do no ask me to give up one of my rare sources of amusement."

In spite of the horrible events of that day, Anomen could not help but smile a little—as Gandalf no doubt intended.

When Anomen arose on the morrow, he discovered that the wizard had changed his plans during the night.

"We will be returning to Imladris, my lad, but first we will be stopping by Brandy Hall.  If it was indeed Primula Baggins who drowned, I would like to pay my respects to her parents, Mirabella and Gorbadoc Brandybuck.  And then perhaps we will brief visit the Shire proper so that I can renew my acquaintance with an old friend of mine who lives in Hobbiton.

Anomen wondered at Gandalf's change of plans, but of course he had no objection.  They broke fast, and then Anomen washed the dishes as quickly as he could.  (He was centuries older than Halbarad, but he still drew skivvy duty on this expedition because the Ranger was deemed mature amongst Men whilst he was merely accounted young amongst Elves.  This did not seem fair to Anomen, but there you have it.)

When wizard and Elf arrived at Brandy Hall, it looked much the same as it had when Anomen visited it as an elfling, save that there were more round windows and more round doors through which burst an even larger number of cheering, shouting Hobbit children.  One of them, noisier than the rest, very much reminded Anomen of Merry.  This one planted himself boldly in front of Anomen.

"You're an Elf!" he declared gleefully.  "Once upon a time an Elf came here and played with my great-great-great granddad.  He was called 'Leaf' or 'Tree' or 'Bush' or some such name."

"Who was your great-great-great granddad?" asked Anomen eagerly.

"Merry Brandybuck.  And my great-great granddad was Merry Brandybuck, and so was my great granddad and my granddad and my dad.  And I," he finished proudly, "am Merry Brandybuck, too!"

"You do look like your great-great-great granddad," exclaimed a delighted Anomen.

"How would you know?" asked the latest Merry, a puzzled look upon his face.

"Oh, I mean, I am sure that you do indeed take after your great-great-great granddad."

"We-ell," said the youngest Merry, "when I, um, 'gather' mushrooms, my great granddad does say that I am _his granddad come back again—though he says it as shouldn't, for I have heard my dad say the same of him!"_

Anomen laughed.  "I like mushrooms, too!"

"Do you?  There is a place across the river, a farm where mushrooms grow so thick they're like to crowd each other out.  If you stop here long enough, mayhap we can go across and gather some."

Anomen shook his head regretfully.

"Our business here will be brief, I fear.  Gandalf merely wishes to pay his respects to Mirabella and Gorbadoc Brandybuck.

Merry grew somber.

"They're inside making ready to bid farewell to my Uncle Drogo and Aunt Primula.  My uncle and aunt drowned in the Brandywine yesterday.  Folk do say that Drogo must have had trouble managing the boat in the swift current. He had been on the river before, but he was a Baggins, not a Brandybuck, so he was not as skillful at handling boats as most hereabouts."

"I am very sorry," said Anomen simply.

"Thank you," replied Merry.  "At least we can take some comfort that their baby did not drown—that's something to be grateful for.  Frodo was in a basket, and it floated long enough to wash up on shore."

"I am very glad to hear it," said Anomen.

"My dad swears that someone must have been looking out for the wee creature.  Would you like to see him?"

"If it wouldn't be any trouble," said Anomen, trying not to seem too eager.

"I don't think anyone would mind," answered Merry, and he led Anomen into a room where a motherly Hobbit gently rocked a cradle.  Anomen approached softly and peered into the little bed.  A Hobbit infant looked up at him.  Anomen caught his breath at the depth of expression in the child's blue eyes.

"A dear little thing he is," said the Hobbit matron.  "He hasn't cried a bit—just looks at everyone as sober as a magistrate.  If I didn't know better, I'd say he understood that his dad and ma can't be here for him no more—but no baby is that wise."

The infant studied Anomen as intently as the Elf studied him.  The motherly Hobbit was wrong, Anomen decided—this baby was that wise.

"Ah, I see that you have made the acquaintance of our little Frodo."

Gandalf stood in the doorway, flanked on either side by Frodo's Brandybuck grandparents.  He walked over to stand beside Anomen.

"Remarkable," he said softly under his breath as he looked down at the infant.  Then he turned to address the grandparents.

"Anomen and I are going on to Hobbiton.  Would you like us to carry word of this unfortunate accident to Drogo's cousin Bilbo?  He will be sure to want to do something for Frodo, now his parents have both passed on."

"Oh," said Gorbadoc gratefully, "could you?  I mislike sending such news in a letter.  You're an old friend of Bilbo, so it would seem right for you to carry a message from us.  But you are sure that you don't mind?"

"As you say, I am an old friend of Bilbo—and of you as well, as I was to your father and grandfather before you.  I am glad to do what little I can to help you and Bilbo in a time such as this."

"Thank you, Gandalf.  Thank you, indeed."

The next morning Gandalf and Anomen set out for Hobbiton.  Gandalf told Anomen to keep his hood up.

"The Hobbits in Buckland see no harm in keeping company with Elves, but the folks in Hobbiton may look askance at you.   Bilbo already has a reputation for eccentricity thereabouts, and if he is visited by an Elf as well as a wizard, that is likely to put the nail in the coffin of his respectability."

As Gandalf and Anomen drew near to Bag End, two sour-faced Hobbits came marching toward them.  Gandalf greeted them politely.

"A good-day to you, Master Sackville-Baggins, and a good-day to you as well, Mistress Sackville-Baggins."

"Hmmph," snorted the Mistress.  "If you are on your way to see Bilbo Baggins, you may as well turn back.  He's not to home."

"Indeed?"

"You needn't look so doubtful!  We looked in every window, and he is not to be seen."

"Not to be seen?"

"That's what I said!  Not to be seen."

"Well, well, perhaps I'll just leave a calling card."

With that, Gandalf bowed, but not even that gesture improved the temper of Master and Mistress Sackville-Baggins.

As they walked on, Anomen said, "Since your friend is not to home, what shall we do?"

"Oh, he is at Bag End."

"But they did not see him."

"No, I suppose he would have made sure that they could not see him.  Nevertheless, unless I am badly mistaken, _we shall be able to see him."_

Anomen was puzzled at Gandalf's words, but he was used to that feeling when in the company of the wizard.  On they walked.

When they arrived at the round door of Bag End, Gandalf took his staff and rapped sharply upon it.

"Gandalf," protested Anomen, "you have put a dent in the door—and it looks as if it has been newly painted!"

"I know," smiled the wizard, who managed to look surprisingly mischievous for an agéd Istar.  "Positively drives him wild.  Observe how I have very nearly tapped out the rune for 'G'.   Another few visits and the shape of the rune shall be quite distinctly impressed into the wood."

Just at that moment the visitors heard someone spluttering on the other side of the door, which was flung open with a bang.

"Just had that door painted, I did, and—Gandalf!"

One very enthusiastic Hobbit flung himself into the arms of his old friend.

"Gandalf!  What a pleasure!  What a delight!  Do come in!  And your friend as well!  An Elf, I see—the hood doesn't fool _me_, my friend!  Tea?  I was just about to have some."

"You are always 'just about to have some'," laughed Gandalf.

"Well, and what if I am," said the Hobbit, joining in the laughter.  "Why ever did you send me off on a quest if you didn't wish me to learn the value of a hearty repast."

"As if you didn't know that beforehand!" exclaimed the wizard.

"There is nothing like going without to teach you the true worth of something," averred the Hobbit.  "But aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Bilbo, allow me to present to you Anomen, foster-son of Elrond."

"Ah, an Elf from the Last Homely House.  I _am delighted.  Pour you some tea?"_

Apparently tea was absolutely necessary for a proper welcome, and Anomen said that he would be glad to have some—although he was not sure what 'tea' was.  Presumably it was something potable, and it could not, he thought, be worse than beer.

As it turned out, tea was both a beverage and a meal, and both were indeed far superior to beer in the eyes, or rather the mouth, of the Elf.  Anomen followed Gandalf's lead in stirring honey into his tea, and the other foods he was well-acquainted with—bread and scones and cheese and clotted cream and fresh strawberries.

After the wizard, the Elf, and the Hobbit had satisfied their hunger, Gandalf leaned back, lit his pipe, and looked over the Hobbit carefully.

"I must say, Bilbo, that you are keeping yourself remarkably well.'

"Yes, yes, of course.  I have plenty to eat, and I walk about quite a bit.  I have kept fairly fit, I think.  Most other Hobbits of my acquaintance seem to be letting themselves go."

"Not so much letting themselves go as aging, don't you think?"

"No," said Bilbo stubbornly, "letting themselves go.  If it were aging, I would look as they do—and I don't."

"Quite right," agreed Gandalf.  "If you were aging, you would look as they do."

Bilbo looked as if he were not sure how to reply.  While he was that state of uncertainty, Gandalf pressed his advantage.

"Do you still have that keepsake you picked up after our party was attacked by goblins—a ring I think it was?"

"Ye-es."

"I should like Anomen to see it, for it was a pretty bauble."

The Hobbit seemed reluctant, but he drew something forth from a pocket in his vest.  His hand trembling, he unclenched his fingers just enough for Anomen to see the shiny gold ring that lay on his palm, its smooth surface unmarred by any scratch or device.  Anomen stared at it warily.

"It is beautiful," he whispered, "but—."  He paused.

"Yes?" said Gandalf sharply, "beautiful but what?"

Anomen shook his head.  He could not make out the word that ought to follow 'but'.

"Put it away," he abruptly said to the Hobbit.  "I don't want to look at it anymore!"

The Hobbit gladly—and hastily—obliged, but Gandalf stared at the Elf, his face inscrutable.  Then he changed the subject.

"I fear, Bilbo, that this is not altogether a lighthearted visit.  I bring sad news from your kin in Buckland.  Yesterday Drogo and Primula meant to go boating on the Brandywine, but I am afraid they have both drowned.  Their child survived the incident, however."

The ring was instantly forgotten.

"But this is dreadful, Gandalf!  Drogo and Primula were both so young, and their child but newly born.  How awful!  Oh, dear, I must do something for the poor little fellow!"

"I was hoping you would say that, Bilbo.  His grandparents will look after him for the time being, but they are rather agéd.  And there are so many young ones at Brandy Hall that I am rather afraid he will get overlooked as the years go by.  I know his Brandybuck kin will make sure that he lacks for nothing, so it's not your money he will have need of.  Instead, when he is old enough, you ought to have him to Bag End from time to time.  It will be good for him to have someone to pay a bit of attention to him, I am sure."

"You are right, Gandalf, and, well, actually, I've been feeling a bit restless and wishing there were some young folk about.  It would be good for me, too, I think."

"Excellent!  It's settled then.  You'll keep an especial eye on your nephew Frodo and have him to Bag End as soon and as often as possible."

Just at that moment someone began to bang furiously at the door.  Quickly Gandalf leaped to his feet, one hand reaching for his staff, the other flinging aside the cloak to reveal the sword underneath.

"Anomen, draw your blade," he commanded.  "Bilbo, have you a weapon?"

"I loaned Sting to the museum at Michel Delving, but I'll make do," said Bilbo, who was bewildered at Gandalf's behavior but nevertheless stoutly seized the longest knife within reach.

"Mr. Bilbo," a voice clamored as the banging resumed.  "Mr. Bilbo!"

Bilbo sighed in relief.  "The gardener.  Probably nothing worse than caterpillars on the cucumbers."  He went to answer the door, and Gandalf and Anomen put up their weapons.  Anomen looked curiously at Gandalf, but the wizard shook his head at him.

"Well, Hamfast, what's the trouble?" they heard Bilbo say.

"It's the taters, Mr. Bilbo!  There's a blight a'settin' in on 'em.  I saw Master Gandalf a'goin' up the path earlier today.  He's got to come quick!"

Gandalf went to the door.

"Master Gandalf, ye must come straightaway!"

"Hamfast Gamgee, I know nothing about the care of potatoes!"

 "That's awreet, Master Gandalf.  You're a wizard!"

"But that doesn't make me a horticulturist!"

"A horti-what?"

"Like as not," suggested Bilbo, "your mere presence will suffice, Gandalf."

"Oh, very well," agreed Gandalf reluctantly.  "I suppose I'll have to face worse blights in the months and years to come."

Gandalf proceeded to place a spell on Master Gamgee's potatoes that would set for life that gardener's reputation as the premier spud grower of the entire Shire.  Later, after feasting on fried potatoes, mashed potatoes, potatoes boiled with onions and parsley, and potatoes in cheese sauce—all compliments of the wife of the grateful Ham Gamgee—Anomen and Gandalf prepared for a well-deserved rest on the excellent feather mattresses with which Bilbo's guest rooms were equipped.  Anomen thought he might try to wheedle a little information out of the wizard.

"Gandalf—"

"No."

"I was only going to ask—"

"No."

"But—"

"No—and would you like me to put a spell on your mouth to silence you for the night?"

"You are treating me like an elfling again, and you promised you wouldn't!"

"Hmmm."  Gandalf forgot that he was preparing for bed and began to absent-mindedly fill his pipe.  He lit it and began to puff upon it, sending his trademark animal creations floating up to the rafters.  There went a horse, there a dragon, there an oliphaunt.  At last he removed the pipe from his mouth and gave Anomen as much of an explanation as he was going to get.

"Anomen, you must have noticed that I also did not explain to Halbarad the exact nature of my interest in the Shire."

Anomen had to concede that that was true.

"Have you considered, Anomen, that I may have a good reason for not telling you at this time all my fears and suspicions?"

"Because they _are fears and suspicions; you are thus unsure of your facts?"_

"Excellent, my lad.  Can you think of any other reason?  What, say, would happen if you fell into unfriendly hands—as has happened to you once before, I might point out?"

Anomen looked at the wizard gravely.  "I see.  It would not be good for me to know more than it is necessary for me to know—lest I unwillingly or unwittingly reveal valuable information to the Enemy."

"Yes, it would not be good—not only for the Shire but for your health!  The Enemy has the most interesting methods for questioning prisoners, as the Dwarf Thráin learned to his grief in the dungeons of Dol Guldur."

Anomen shuddered.

"Is your curiosity satisfied for the time being, Anomen?"

"Oh, yes, Gandalf," the young Elf declared fervently.

"Good, then go to—I mean, sleep well, my friend."

As the young Elf's eyes glazed over, the last thing he saw was a cavalcade of vaporous horses galloping, galloping, galloping across the ceiling.  That night he dreamed of a mighty cavalry charging across a plain toward towering oliphaunts.  In the distance, horns blew wildly but whether in triumph or in terror, he could not tell.


	7. Bearded And Toothed

_Farflung__: Yes, we are getting close.     Frodo goes off on his quest when he is fifty, the same age Bilbo was when he ran down the road after the Dwarves without his pocket handkerchief!  Since I have introduced Frodo into this story, that means I only have fifty years to work with at the end of the story (although I've still got plenty of time to insert stories at earlier stages—do not panic!).  I may very well allow the reunion between Thranduil and Legolas to take place in this story, although, if I do, Legolas will split his time between Mirkwood and Rivendell for the next fifty years so that he can continue to have adventures with Glorfindel, Elrond, Elrohir, and, of course, Estel._

_Ky_: _There __may (no promises!) be some interaction between Rivendell and Greenwood Elves in the Misty Mountains, but it won't involve Anomen because then the jig would be up and I'd have to end the story prematurely.  You wouldn't want _that_ now, would you?  ^_^_

_Daw__: I figured that, since the details of the drowning of Drogo and Primula were left so murky, that this incident was fair game.  Allows for the insertion of more portents and 'coincidences'._

_Joee__ and _Dragonfly: _Thank you both for drawing my attention to the sentence where I mistakenly typed 'Frodo' for 'Bilbo'.  I have corrected that error.  Guess we can just call it a 'Frodian slip', right?  ^_^_

_Jebb__: I am tempted to create a scene in which Anomen is obstreperous enough for Gandalf to go so far as to raise his staff in a threatening manner (threatening spell-wise, I mean)._

_Karri: _Yes, I do take some liberties with the canon, mainly with the timeline, I think.  Glorfindel does definitely care more about Anomen than his public persona suggests, and in an upcoming chapter he is going to get a chance to express his affection for the young Elf (non-slash!).

The Greenwood Elves spent a fortnight in Lake-town, and by the end of that time Bain and Tawarmaenas had become fast friends.  They had gone swimming together, boating together, and fishing together.  They had ridden forth on several expeditions, partly to hunt but mainly just to enjoy the free-ranging conversations that seemed to accompany an excursion in the open air.  Evenings they had joined with the young folk of the town in laughing, singing, story and joke telling, and, truth be told, a little flirting.

"Tawarmaenas," Bain giggled—they had been working their way through several bottles of excellent Dorwinion wine—"where does a Cave Troll sit in a dining hall?"

"I don't know, Bain.  Where?"

"Anywhere he wants to!"

Tawarmaenas and the other listeners groaned, and shouts of 'Bain, sit down!' were heard.  Bain obliged by tripping and falling into the lap of a particularly charming young maiden.  Hoots all around as the maiden blushed.  Tawarmaenas noticed, however, that she did not push Bain off her lap!

In a room above the square where this celebration was taking place, Thranduil smiled.  He and Bard were also polishing off some Dorwinion wine, albeit at a more sedate and dignified pace.

"The young people seem to be enjoying themselves," observed Bard indulgently.

"As they should!" replied Thranduil.  "One never knows when the opportunity to savor life will be withdrawn, and so it should be tasted to the fullest whenever possible."

"As you have ever done," Bard gently teased.

Thranduil sighed.  "I have heard that Men are wont to say, 'Do as I say, not as I do'.  It is true that I have forfeited many years—nay, centuries!—during which I could have experienced much happiness in the company of my family and friends.  I am resolved, however, never to make the same mistake—and we Elves have a long memory!"

Bard smiled.  "Good.  And I wish for you an equally long future in which to eagerly sample that which you have denied yourself."

"Thank you, my friend."

"So tomorrow you set out for the Lonely Mountain," Bard continued.

"Yes.  Tawarmaenas has only seen Dwarves once, long ago when Thorin Oakenshield's band blundered through Greenwood.  He needs a fuller acquaintance with that folk."

"They can be a prickly people," warned Bard.

Thranduil laughed.  "Prickly—I like that.  It is kinder than some of the words _I would have used."_

"Yet, however desirous they are of driving a hard bargain, it cannot be denied that they are hard-working, honest, truthful, and fair."

"Truthful—you mean blunt!"

"It is true," conceded Bard, "that their candor can take the form of bluntness.  A diplomatic Dwarf is a rare creature!  But you will be better served trading with a plain-spoken Dwarf who measures with true weights than an oily tongued merchant with his thumb on the scale!"

Thranduil nodded.  "Yes, you are right.  I cannot complain of having been cheated in any of my dealings with Dwarves."

"Nor can I," said Bard.  "After we settled the matter of Smaug's treasure, they became our faithful partners, and we are pledged to come to one another's aid.  I would gladly wield my weapon in the company of Dáin and his axe." 

And so he would in the years to come.  In latter days, the story would be told of how Bard and Dáin—Man and Dwarf but above all friend and friend—had died fighting side by side at the gate of Erebor.  It was a grievous time, the end of the Third Age, but matters would have been much worse if Free People of good will, Elf and Dwarf and Man and, yes, Hobbit—had not put aside their differences and discovered their combined strength.  They fought together, died together, and in the end, together they turned back the forces of Darkness.

But the Darkness was a distant threat that fine evening.  Thranduil arose reluctantly.

"I should retire now, as we mean to leave early in the morning."

"Of course.  Shall I send someone to remind your son that he should be retiring as well?"

"Yes, thank you.  I am sure he would much prefer that to being plucked out of an assembly of his peers by the old uncle!"

The next morning the Elves set off for the Lonely Mountain, the Erebor of the Dwarves.  As they had done for the Dwarves so many years earlier, Men of Esgaroth rowed the Elves north the length of the Long Lake and up the River Running while their horses were led along the shore.  When the Men left their passengers at the landing-place on the western bank of the river, they promised to return for them in two weeks time.  The Elves mounted once again and began to ride through the green and fair land that had once been the Desolation of Smaug.  From time to time, however, they passed the blackened stumps of trees, grim reminders of the days when the land had lain scorched under the claw of the worm.

"There may be a little awkwardness when we first arrive at the Lonely Mountain," Thranduil warned Tawarmaenas, "for the last time I, ah, hosted any Dwarves, there was, unfortunately a bit of a misunderstanding, and my guests were perhaps not as well entertained as they should have been!"

Tawarmaenas kept his face straight, which took a commendable effort of will on his part.  He well remembered his irascible uncle's frustration at not receiving answers to his questions from the bedraggled Dwarves who stood defiantly before him and how his uncle had tried to extract the information from his 'guests' by locking them in the dungeons and feeding them very plain, if ample, fair.  Misunderstanding indeed!

As the Elves drew near the Lonely Mountain, they could see that its western side still showed the signs of the dragon's wrath at the discovery that a burglar had intruded into his lair.  Little grew on that side, and the earth was still scarred from the powerful blows of the furious beast as he smashed at the place whence he suspected the burglar had entered.  Elsewhere, however, terraces and towers adorned the mountain, and Dwarves could be seen busily ascending and descending its winding paths.  The valley of Dale was flourishing as well, its fields green, its town ornamented with waterways and fountains and stone-paved roads of many colors.  Gazing with respect and admiration upon the many structures that festooned both mountain and valley, Thranduil declared, "The Dwarves have not been idle!"  As for Tawarmaenas, he thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight, and he wished that the Dwarves might be prevailed upon to come to Greenwood, there to similarly ornament the Great Hall.  Elves have great skill in many crafts, but it cannot be denied that Dwarves excel all folk in stonework.  Thranduil, as it was to turn out, was thinking along similar lines, although perhaps for more pragmatic reasons.

At the foot of the Lonely Mountain, the Elves handed over their mounts to the care of Men of Dale who had been hired by the Dwarves to look after such ponies as from time to time they had need of.  Dwarves are not overly fond of horses, but they did make occasional use of them, either as mounts or as packhorses.

After a long climb, during which the Elves stopped repeatedly to gaze in wonder awe upon the mountain and down into the valley, the Elves at long last reached the grand entrance to the Dwarf realm.  The interior of the mountain soon proved to be as awe-inspiring as the exterior, for the Dwarves lived in a subterranean city of great halls and cavernous streets, and everywhere the Elves turned they saw magnificent arches carved with trees.

"Ooooh," breathed Tawarmaenas.  "I had thought that the dwellings of Dwarves would be crude.  I see that I was wrong."

Thranduil had a very thoughtful expression upon his face.  "And I as well," he admitted.  He shook his head, trying to break free of the sense of wonder that possessed him.  After such a long life of scorning the race of earth-dwelling Dwarves, it was not easy for him to admit that in some ways those folk matched—nay, exceeded!—the Elves in their love of beauty and their talent for creating it.

A dignified and prosperous looking Dwarf led them down to the very roots of the mountain and into an immense chamber, one so large that the Elves suspected that it must once have been Smaug's lair.  In this they were correct, but so healed it had been of its hurts that anyone not knowing the history of the place would never guess that it had once been befouled with the stench of the foul worm and wreathed with its vapors.

A great stone chair sat upon a dais constructed in an intricate pattern of tessellated stones, and upon it sat Dáin son of Náin, King under the Mountain.  To either side stood several magnificently attired Dwarves, their beards reaching at least to their mithril and gold and silver belts.  Curiously, one white-hooded Dwarf was pacing back and forth, apparently in great agitation.

Thranduil inclined his head.

"Hail, Dáin son of Náin, King under the Mountain."

Dáin showed great courtesy.  He arose from his throne and stepped down from the dais so that he stood on the same level as Thranduil, even though this meant that the Elf would tower above him.  He inclined his head.

"Hail, Thranduil son of Oropher, King of Greenwood."

"Please allow me to present to you my nephew and heir, Tawarmaenas son of Dagormaenas."

"You are welcome here, Tawarmaenas son of Dagormaenas.  Please allow me to present to you my counselors."  He gestured to a Dwarf with an exceptionally long white beard, a scarlet hood, and a jeweled belt of great magnificence.

"This is Balin son of Fundin.  And this is his brother Dwalin," he added, indicating a Dwarf who stood beside Balin."

"Dwalin—blue beard, golden belt, dark-green hood; Balin—white beard, jeweled belt, scarlet hood." thought Tawarmaenas.

"This inestimable individual," continued Dáin, with a wave of his hand toward a Dwarf of such amazing girth that Tawarmaenas wondered how he could walk, "is Bombur."

"Bombur—pale green hood and _very wide."_

"And this," Dáin said, gesturing to the white-hooded Dwarf who was still frantically pacing, "is Glóin. Glóin," he called, "I would like to introduce you to our guests, the King of Greenwood and the Prince, his nephew."

With an abstracted air, Glóin paused briefly to acknowledge them and then resumed pacing back and forth, back and forth.

"His wife is in labor.  Poor Glóin has been frantic all day," whispered Dáin.  "He broke two hammers in the forge this morning.  I then suggested that he work off his energy in the mine, and he broke not one, not two, but _three pickaxes!"_

Thranduil nodded sympathetically.  He well knew that childbearing could be a perilous business, and he wished both the mother and the infant well.

Dáin continued with the introductions.  Both Thranduil and Tawarmaenas were now very close to bewilderment even though they were paying careful attention to beards and belts and hoods as they desperately tried to memorize the clues that would help them distinguish one Dwarf from another.  Óin had a brown hood and no other counselor did, and only Ori wore a grey hood.  In the end, however, king and nephew could not tell the difference between the yellow-hooded Bifur and the identically hooded Bofur; nor could they distinguish between Dori and Nori, both of whom wore purple hoods.  But they bowed and smiled to all and sundry.

In spite of the graciousness of the welcome they were receiving from Dáin, Tawarmaenas noticed that some of the Dwarves looked upon the Elves with unfriendly eyes, especially Balin, who was well-nigh glowering at them.  Apparently the 'misunderstanding' years before still weighed heavily on the minds of some of Thranduil's former 'guests'.  No doubt Thranduil was aware of this as well.  Certainly his next words went a long way toward placating the more irate among the Dwarves.

"King Dáin, my nephew and I have been marveling at your towers and terraces and fountains and arches.  In Greenwood we have no structures that come near rivaling yours.   Perhaps you might loan us some of your craftsmen so that Greenwood may in some small measure capture some of the beauty of this place."

Balin's pride in his kinsmen's accomplishments was such that he leaped in without waiting upon the reply of his king.  "Would that please you?" he exclaimed.  "But I must tell you that all of this is nothing when compared to Khazud-dûm!"

"Khazud-dûm.  That is Moria, is it not?"

"Yes!  The Dwarrowdelf of old!"

 "I thought none lived there anymore, that it had become infested with Goblins," said Thranduil.

"True, true, but at its height, it was an immense underground city, its halls  columned, its galleries arched, its black walls, polished and smooth as glass, flashing and glimmering, and all linked by an intricate maze of passageways.  So vast it was that it extended at least forty miles from West-Door to East-Gate!  Mayhap it shall be returned to its glory, and Dwarves from far and near will travel to visit it and the Dimrill Dale that lies near at hand, there to gaze upon the waters of Kheled-zâram, the Mirrormere."

Balin became more and more excited as he talked.  At last Dáin gently interrupted.

"Our Balin here has been begging leave to take Ori and Óin and many others to Khazud-dûm to reestablish our dominion in that place.  I am loath to permit them to go, for I think it is doubtful that we will be able to retake that city until the Darkness has been driven back in other places."

Balin made as if to renew his address, but Dáin shook his head.

"Nay, Balin.  For now you must make other, mayhap better use of your tongue.  Let us to the great chamber of Thror, the hall of feasting and merriment!"

This command pleased even Balin, and Dwarves and Elves ascended to another room, not quite so large but equally magnificent, in which tables had been set with a vast quantity of food and drink of the finest description.  Dwarves are not known to be tall, but everyone knows that at the table a Dwarf can perform deeds incommensurate with his stature.  Indeed, over the years Bombur's exploits at table had been on such a scale that it did turn out, as Tawarmaenas had suspected, that he could not walk—or at least chose not to trouble himself with that exercise.  Instead, six young and sturdy Dwarves fetched him a sedan chair, and he was carried in great dignity into the dining hall.

In the midst of festivities, a messenger hurried to Glóin and whispered something in his ear.  That worthy Dwarf leaped up with a shout of joy.

"I've a son!  I've a son!  He and his mother are well!"

Thranduil smiled, albeit a trifle wistfully.  Still, he was sincerely happy for the Dwarf.  He arose from his seat.

"Allow me to congratulate you and to offer the first toast in honor of your son, who is—."

"Gimli," declared Glóin proudly.  "That's what I'm going to name him—Gimli!"

Thranduil raised his glass.  "A long and happy life to Gimli son of Glóin.  May he find friends wherever he ventures!"

After the toast, Glóin excused himself to hasten to the side of his wife and newborn son.  It was late, however, so soon after his departure the gathering itself drew to a close.

"Thranduil," declared Dáin, "I am remiss in my duties as a host.  You and your nephew and your escort are surely tired from your journey, and I have not yet commanded that your rooms be made ready.  Indeed, to be truthful, I have not given any thought at all to your housing!"

"There are some very nice 'apartments' in the lower levels," deadpanned Balin.  All laughed, Elves and Dwarves alike.

"Oh, I had in mind drier and somewhat more spacious quarters for these guests," said Dáin, smiling.

Dwarves can work fast—everyone knows how quickly Thorin Oakenshield and his band had erected defenses against the approaching armies of Lake-town and Greenwood—and in short order all the Elves were comfortably ensconced in rooms that were, Thranduil ruefully observed, far superior to the accommodations that he had provided the Dwarves so many years earlier.  Indeed, so fine were the rooms set aside for the Elves, that Thranduil suspected that Dáin was 'rubbing his face in it'.  Well, he conceded, perhaps such treatment was well-deserved.

The next morning everyone had to listen to Glóin wax poetic—for a Dwarf anyway—over the merits of his newborn son.  All it took was a mild expression of interest on the part of Tawarmaenas for Glóin to eagerly offer to take him to see the infant immediately after breakfast.  No doubt there would have been a veritable parade of visitors to the new citizen of Erebor had not the others at the table been wise enough to hold their tongues.

After breakfast Glóin proudly escorted Tawarmaenas to the chamber where his wife was lying-in.  He asked Tawarmaenas to wait and vanished into the room, emerging a short time later carefully cradling a swaddled infant.  Tawarmaenas drew near and, fascinated, peered down at the infant.  He was very red, very wrinkled, and he scrunched up his face as if he were scowling.  He had a full head of wiry, reddish-brown hair and a soft fringe of fuzz upon his chin.  Fascinated, Tawarmaenas carefully extended a finger and stroked the baby Dwarf's face.  Gimli flailed his arms about, and one hand touched Tawarmaenas' finger and promptly curled about it, gripping tightly.

"He is strong," declared Tawarmaenas in surprise.

"Aye," crowed Glóin.  "He has a grip made for axe-wielding.  Heads will roll when he steps upon the battlefield!  No Elf will ever match him—oh, sorry, my young prince.  I meant no disrespect!"

Tawarmaenas began to laugh.  "No matter—ow!"

The baby had drawn the Elf's finger into his mouth and bitten down upon it.

"This baby has a tooth!" gasped Tawarmaenas as he gently tried to free his finger.

"Toothed and bearded," chortled Glóin.  "Has anyone ever seen such a _perfect_ baby!?  Oh, no, I think not!  What say you, Master Elf?"

Tawarmaenas answered with complete honestly.  "Indeed, Master Glóin, I am sure we could search the length and breadth of Arda without finding a baby that is the match of this one!"

Glóin beamed, and Tawarmaena thought of his own father then, for his earliest memory was of his Ada proudly showing him off to a room full of indulgent friends and relatives.

That evening Tawarmaenas mentioned this incident to Thranduil.

"Yes," sighed Thranduil, "that is the way of all parents—or should be."

The King fell silent for awhile, and Tawarmaenas was sorry that he had mentioned the matter.  At last, however, Thranduil roused himself.

"What do you think of Dwarves now, my son?"

"They are much nicer and cleverer than I imagined."

"Yes, but do not forget that they are Dwarves, and we are Elves.  Much still separates us, and it would be folly to rely too much upon the friendship of a Dwarf!"

Tawarmaenas thought again of Glóin beaming proudly over his son and of his own father doing likewise.  He was not sure that he altogether shared his uncle's opinion.  For now, however, he politely nodded.  And on that note, the two parted for the night.


	8. Of Wolves And Wild Men

**Folks, this is another domestic interlude at Rivendell.  You can consider it the calm before the Orc storm that will rain down upon the Imladris Elves.**

_Joee__: _I don't mind at all when you point out the slip-ups.  Actually, I appreciate your sharp eye and the opportunity to make corrections.

Thanks also to the following readers for their responses and encouragement: _Kitsune__, __Karri__, __Ky__, Jebb, Farflung, dd9736, Daw the Minstrel, _and _Dragonfly._  If I weren't kind of ploughed under here, I've try to write an individual note to each of you.  Maybe next chapter, I will be able to.  Sorry about that, folks.  I don't want you to think I don't appreciate your reviews because I _really, really_ do!

Vocabulary

Celaimîr—'Bright Jewel', daughter of the Heard Armorer and sister of Celaithand

Celaithand—'Bright Shield', son of the Heard Armorer and brother of Celaimîr

Lendsiniath—'Sweet Tidings', daughter of the Head Cook

Malthenêl—'Golden Star', niece of Glorfindel and twin of Malthenrî

Malthenrî—'Golden Wreath', niece of Glorfindel and twin of Malthenêl

Meluifaer—'Lovely Spirit', relative of Haldir, visiting from Lothlórien

Miluithand—'Kind Warrior', daughter of Berenmaethor

            A golden-haired Elf rode at a leisurely pace through the gates of Rivendell.  Seemingly he knew his way about, for he went straight to the stable, where he entrusted his mount to a stable hand before sauntering toward the Hall.  At the entrance, the Door Warden recognized him instantly and bowed deeply.

            "Master Haldir, it is an honor to greet you."

            "Thank you."

            "Lord Elrond is within.  Would you like to proceed to his chamber?"

            "Thank you, but not just yet.  First I would like to exchange these travel garments for something a little cleaner.  Is my old room free?"

            "Yes, Master Haldir.  I will see that your belongings are brought to it."

            "That will not be necessary.  I have only the one pack."

            Haldir strode directly to the room where he had stayed the last time he had visited Imladris.  He had hardly drawn fresh clothes from his pack when he heard a knock on the door and servants entered bearing towels, fragrant oils, and a vessel of steaming water to pour into the bathing cauldron that stood in the antechamber.  After they had left, Haldir dipped cold water from the small reservoir in the corner of the antechamber, adding it to the hot water in the cauldron until his bath was at a temperature to his liking.  Then, with a contented sigh, he slipped into the tub.

            Bang!  The door flew open and slammed against the wall.

            "Haldir!  Mae govannen!" chorused two voices.

            Haldir groaned.

            "You couldn't let me bathe in peace, could you?  You just had to come bursting in."

            "Of course," said Elladan sweetly.  "We know how much you enjoy our company."

"Yes," added Elrohir.  "And we would be remiss in our duties if we didn't try to make you feel at home.'

"We plan to treat you like one of the family," averred Elladan.  "Anomen is not here at the moment, and we miss having a brother upon which to lavish our attention."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Haldir in mock alarm.  "In that case I am returning to Lothlórien directly!"

Elrohir picked up Haldir's clothes.

"Elladan, we should put Haldir's clothes in a safe place, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes," his brother agreed, his face the picture of concern.  "We wouldn't want his clothes to be mislaid, now, would we?"

Haldir tried to look aggrieved but in the end could not help laughing.

"Very well.  I swear that I will not return to Lórien—now give me back my clothes!"

Elrohir feinted a throw into the tub but instead tossed the clothes back onto the bench where they had laid before.

"So, Haldir, what brings you to Rivendell—other than your desire for our company, that is?"

"I carry letters from the Lord and the Lady and from your sister."

"Arwen!" exclaimed Elladan, delighted.  "Has she written to us?"

"I don't know why she would bother," replied Haldir haughtily, "but, yes, there is a letter for each of you in my pack."

He had scarcely finished speaking before Elrohir had upended his pack, pouring the contents upon the floor.

"You rascal!" cried Haldir, indignantly, "aren't you going to pick up my belongings!?"

"That would be a silly thing to do," replied Elrohir, "as you will surely want to put your things away, and _I _don't know where you plan to store each item.  But at least I have unpacked everything for you!  When you have finished bathing," he added, "will you ride with us?"

"Those are the only clean garments I have left.  If I go riding with you hellions, I'm sure I shall get them filthy again, and then what will I wear to Elrond's table?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," said Elladan breezily.  "You can borrow some of ours until yours are washed.  Meet us in the garden!"

With that the twins vanished from the room so that they could read their letters before riding.  Haldir gave a sigh of relief.  At least he would be able to dress without having to endure a running commentary from the twins.

As soon as Haldir had washed and dressed, he headed for the garden.  As promised, the two twins were waiting for him, lounging on the grass in front of a statue of Gil-galad.  They leapt up at the sight of their friend.

"To the stable!" proclaimed Elrohir, striking a heroic pose.

At that very moment a little human trotted around the corner, followed, much to Haldir's surprise, by a small dog.

"Who is that human?"

"Oh," replied Elladan, "that is Estel.  Ada is fostering him because his own father was slain by Orcs."

"Estel," called Elrohir.   "Come and greet our friend Haldir.  He has just now arrived from Lothlórien."

The urchin approached.  "Mae govannen!" he crowed.  "You are most welcome!"  Then, without warning, Estel leaped into the arms of Haldir, greatly startling the Elf, although he did maintain enough presence of mind to hang on to the little human and not drop him.

            Nonplussed, Haldir looked about at the two Elves who stood watching with smiles on their faces.  He hoped that one of them would give him a clue as to what he was supposed to do next.  Clinging to him was a little human—not only that, but a grubby little human whose odor was, ah, _pungent_, to say the least.  This tiny and stinky Dunadan tightened his grip, embracing Haldir enthusiastically, and, tentatively at first, the Elf hugged him back.  Estel rewarded him with an open-hearted smile, and from that moment forth the Lórien Elf cherished the young human.  "That one," he thought to himself, "will be a bold and passionate and honest leader, someone trusted and followed by both Elves and Men.  Indeed, I would wager my life that his smile could melt even the suspicious heart of a Dwarf!"

            "We are going riding, Estel," said Elladan.  "Would you like to come with us?"

            "Oh, yes!"

            "Then put Gwaurant in his pen, and meet us at the stable."

            The boy ran off, and the Elves proceeded to the stable.  As they entered it, Haldir was delighted to see that Anomen's horse was in one of the stalls.

            "Wonderful!  Anomen has come back!  Where is he?"

            "His horse is here," said Elladan, "but that is only because he went on foot         to the Shire with one of the Dúnadan."

            Haldir was disappointed.  Elrohir hastened to reassure him.

            "Gandalf went after them, and we have lately received word that both he and Anomen have set out to return to Rivendell.  Indeed, they may be here within the week."

            "Gandalf?"

            "Oh, that is one of Mithrandir's names."

            "Ah, yes, of course."

            The three Elves led their horses out of the stable were soon joined by an eager Estel.  Haldir obligingly agreed to let Estel ride before him, thus unknowingly inspiring in the child the same admiration that he himself already felt for the human.

            The next morning Elladan, Elrohir, and Haldir went out riding again, but Estel, to his disgust, was collared by Erestor and dragged off to the library for the usual lessons.  Fortunately, he was not unprepared for such a contingency.

            Estel had never been known for taking much trouble over his garments.  The simpler the better, that was his motto—and the fewer the better.  His cloak in particular he despised.  He viewed it as a hindrance, for it weighed him down, got caught on thorns, and, worst of all, it provided something for adults to grab for when he was trying to escape Cooks in kitchens and Tutors in libraries.  Lately, however, he had taken to faithfully wearing his cloak even on days when the weather was fine.

            There was a perfectly good reason for this sudden change.  As Glorfindel had demonstrated, a puppy could be hidden under a cloak.  Before Erestor had tracked him down, Estel had retrieved Gwaurant from the pen in the garden when the puppy spent his time when his master was otherwise occupied.  Thus, unbeknownst to Erestor, the tutor was escorting a puppy as well as a child into his belovéd library.

Once Estel was seated as his usual table, there was one disconcerting moment when his tutor noticed that he had kept on his cloak.

"Why don't you take off your cloak, Estel.  Won't it hinder you as you do your lessons?"

"Oh, it won't get in the way of my hand," exclaimed Estel, reaching for a quill and ink pot to demonstrate.

"Yes, but will you be quite comfortable?"

"I am a little cold, Erestor.  That is why I want to keep on my cloak."

Erestor looked at the child with concern.

"You are not feeling ill, are you, Estel?"

"Oh, no," Estel assured his tutor.  Then he suddenly realized that he might be excused from lessons if he were ill.

"We-ell, actually, perhaps I am coming down with something."  He looked hopefully at Erestor.

Ai! Too late.  Erestor had been a tutor for centuries.  Estel's momentary hesitation was going to cost him.

"No good, Estel.  You are not a convincing liar."

Estel was bewildered.   He had certainly practiced enough, hadn't he?  He sighed and opened his book to the page where he had left off the day before.  Erestor, for his part, resumed his laborious copying of a chronicle of the Last Alliance that had been requested by Saruman, one containing great amount of detail about the fabled Ring of Power.  It was not often that Saruman requested documents from Imladris, and Erestor was determined that this manuscript would do him proud.  He had been putting even greater care into copying it than he usually did—and that is saying a lot!

            By and by a messenger came to inform Erestor that Elrond and Glorfindel had need of a certain map.  Erestor did not have it at hand but sent away the messenger with assurances that he would bring it shortly.  The ink on the page he was working on was of course wet, so he did not wish to close the folio.  Instead, he carefully laid it on the floor next to his table—first checking to see that the flagstones were spotless!—and then, his working space clear, his proceeded to unroll several scrolls until he found the one that was wanted.  Map in hand, Erestor prepared to leave the library.  At the door, he stopped and looked sternly at Estel.

            "If you slip out of the library before you have finished your task, I'll give you twice as many pages tomorrow!  Keep that in mind if you think to run off and get into mischief!"

            Estel bent diligently over his book and with one hand scratched away with his quill while with his other he scratched between the ears of his puppy.  After awhile, the puppy began to squirm.  At last Estel was reluctantly forced to put it upon the floor, and it wandered off to investigate various corners of the library.  Ai! As it investigated each corner, it left a little something to mark its progress, as dogs are wont to do. 

            Estel, meanwhile, was himself making slow progress on his sums.

            "If you have twelve arrows and see seven crows, how many extra arrows have you?"  What did it matter? Estel wondered.  Obviously, in such a case, he would have enough arrows, and that was all that mattered, really.  Besides, he wouldn't want to use his arrows to bring down crows, anyway.  They were tough, and their flesh was nasty.

            "If a Troll has nine bags of gold and steals three more from a passing merchant, how many bags will he have in all?"  Estel wondered what had happened to the merchant in the encounter.  _That_, he thought, was a much more serious matter than how many useless bags of gold a Troll would add to its hoard.

            "If a Dwarf has three pickaxes and offers to trade you one pickaxe for three bottles of wine, how many bottles of wine will you need to acquire all three pickaxes?"  What a silly question!  He didn't want even one pickaxe!  Whatever was he going to do with three!?

            "If you are one hundred leagues from Lothlórien, and you are traveling ten leagues per day, how many days will it take you to reach Lothlórien?"  Honestly, he should just travel as fast as he could, and then he would arrive as quickly as possible!  Whatever else was there to consider?

            Estel idly flipped forward several chapters in his book.  He stopped, horrified.

            "You are five-hundred leagues from Minas Tirith.  You set out for Minas Tirith on foot, traveling five leagues a day.  A friend of yours is leaving Minas Tirith on the same day and traveling toward you.  He is on horseback and covering ten leagues per day.  How many days until the two of you meet?"

            So, if he made it through today's chapter and the next and the next, he eventually would have to wrestle with problems such as this one.  "Rather wrestle with a Warg!" muttered the disconsolate little human.  "Rather walk to Minas Tirith!"

            Just then he heard laughter.  He sprang from his seat and looked out the window.  Elladan, Elrohir, and Haldir were back from their ride.  Forgetting completely about his sums, Estel raced for the door.

            Of course, Reader, you have no doubt noticed that he also completely overlooked his puppy, who was still making—and marking—his progress throughout the library.  The puppy's breakfast was also progressing, of course, and at length he deposited the remnants of it onto the floor.  Having now marked the library in every possible way, the puppy looked about for something to chew.  Vellum, as we all know, is made out of animal skin, and it was not too long before the puppy's nose led him to a copious supply of vellum—in the form of a manuscript lying on the floor next to a table.  With commendable vigor, the puppy tore into the manuscript.  

            After a while, the puppy had reduced the manuscript into strips.  Still chewing on a piece, the puppy wandered off in search of a corner in which to nap.  Just at this moment, Erestor re-entered the library.  What was that awful smell?  He wrinkled his sensitive elven nose in disgust at the acrid odor, and then, following said nose, he sought out and discovered one of the reeking puddles left by the puppy.  Of course, he did not know that this was the _puppy's_ doing.  The tutor was, to put it mildly, aghast. Even worse, a few feet to the left of the puddle lay a more substantial deposit of, ah, discarded matter.  This is dreadful, thought the tutor, absolutely dreadful!  Erestor hurried to Estel's table.  No child.  Then he turned toward his own table—and caught sight of the manuscript, what was left of it, that is.

            Erestor stared in disbelief at the wreckage on the floor.  What could have happened here!?  Ai! The puppy had heard his steps and anxious to play, he chose that moment to come capering around the corner.  The tell-tale scrap of manuscript dangled from his mouth.

            "You, you, you wolf!" spluttered the furious Erestor.  "You warg!  You beast of Mordor!"

            The tutor swooped down upon the puppy and seized it by the scruff of its neck.

            "Elrond should never have permitted that man-child to keep a beast in the Hall.  It's not natural!  It's not done!  Well, I'll make certain that you never chew another book, you may be sure of it!"

            Erestor seized a bag and stuffed the puppy into it.  Then he began to stride from the library, to head for the front door.  Suddenly he stopped.

            "Hmmm.  I'd better steal a page from Anomen."

The tutor went to the window—fortunately, the library was on the main level—and awkwardly clambered through it, letting himself down into the garden.  From there he stole away into the forest of Imladris, making for the River Bruinen.  Once he had reached the woods, rapidly, and in a fury, he stormed through them until he stood on the banks of the swift-flowing river.  He pulled the puppy from the satchel.  The little beast looked at him joyfully, wagging its tail and licking the tutor's hand.  Erestor stood irresolute for a minute.  At last he addressed the puppy.

"You are a little wolf, and wolves live in the forest.  In fact, there is a very nice wolf pack hereabouts, and I am sure they would be delighted to make your acquaintance."

Erestor put the puppy upon the ground.

"I am going back to the Hall.  Men and Elves live in Halls.  You stay here in the forest and seek out your kin."

Erestor turned and began to walk back toward the Hall.  The puppy followed at his heels.  Erestor walked faster.  Delighted at the outdoor exercise, the puppy began to frisk about.  Erestor started to run.  Finally, out of breath, he stopped.  Ai!  There was the puppy, trotting up to him, tail wagging, tongue lolling.

"Stop following me!" shouted Erestor.  "I didn't drown you!  What more do you want from me?"

He hastened on.

But the puppy continued to follow the tutor, its tail wagging.

At last Erestor removed the laces from one of his boots and tied one end around the puppy's neck, the other around a sapling.

"There," he said with satisfaction. "By the time you work yourself free, I'll be far away from here.  Then you shall find yourself a nice wolf pack, and all shall be well."

Cheerfully, Erestor set off in the direction of the Hall.  After walking for no more than a quarter of an hour, he was surprised and dismayed to hear a growling sound behind him.  Had the puppy gotten loose so quickly?  And what was the matter with it that it was growling in such a deep tone.  Erestor turned around—and saw a wolf slinking out from behind a tree.

Now, wolves usually were no problem in Imladris.  Matters were different in Mirkwood, which was infested with fell wolves, as Anomen had reason to know, having been pursued by them across the plain when he had first run away from home.  Packs of Imladris wolves, however, generally molested neither Elves nor Men.  Instead, as most wolves have done from time immemorial, they would stalk sick and old animals, encircling and isolating their victims and pulling them down once they were exhausted past resistance.  Unfortunately, the wolf hungrily eyeing Erestor was a lone wolf, a rogue.  He had been crippled in the fight with a younger wolf that had driven him out of his pack, and now, famished, with no pack to hunt with, he would try to pull down whatever he came across, Man, Elf, or animal.

Erestor had only the knife that all Elves carried as a matter of course, and he doubted it would help him much against the determined attack of a wolf, even a crippled one.  He glanced swiftly about at the nearest trees and saw that their lowest branches were out of reach.  With one hand he drew his knife and with the other he seized the longest stick in sight, hoping to use both knife and stick to fend off the wolf.  If he could hold off the beast long enough, perhaps he could gradually move toward a tree whose branches he could reach.  Or perhaps someone would happen by within hearing and come to his aid.

The wolf snarled and began to circle his intended prey.  Erestor turned, keeping face, knife, and stick toward the wolf.  Again and again the wolf feinted toward the Elf, and again and again the Elf fended him off.  Unfortunately, the wolf, though crippled, was a canny and skillful hunter, and he kept himself between Erestor and any vegetation that might provide the tutor shelter.  At length the Elf began to tire, and, despairingly, he saw that he was no closer to any tree that he could possibly climb.  The wolf was charging more aggressively, no doubt sensing that his quarry was weakening.  It was at this point that Erestor heard the snarling of a second beast.  He felt sick.  So this was how he was going to depart Arda—torn to shreds by wolves.  Would there even be enough of him left to enter the Halls of Mandos?  The branches of a bush behind the crippled wolf parted—and into the battle charged Gwaurant, trailing behind him Erestor's broken boot laces.

The puppy flung himself at the wolf.  At first that beast attempted to deal with both Elf and puppy simultaneously, but, in his crippled state, he could make little headway.  Futilely, he alternately snapped at Elf and puppy, but both of his intended targets eluded him again and again.  At last the worrying of the puppy drove the wolf to madness, and he turned his entire attention to the little creature.  Gwaurant yelped as the wolf sank its teeth into his foreleg.  But as the wolf tightened its grip upon the puppy, he was distracted from the Elf, who flung himself upon the beast and plunged his blade into its neck.  The wolf jerked convulsively once or twice and fell dead, the puppy's leg still in its mouth.  Erestor carefully pried Gwaurant's leg free from the jaws of the dead wolf and gently cradled the whimpering puppy in his arms.

"You are a brave little fellow," he whispered.  "And I did not deserve your aid!"

Erestor knelt down upon the forest floor and laid the puppy in a pile of leaves.  The tutor had come away from the Hall without his cloak.  He removed his tunic and tore off several strips with which to bind the puppy's leg.  Then he used the rest of his tunic to wrap up the puppy.

"I must keep you warm," Erestor declared, "and carry you to Elrond as quickly as I may.  He will bind your leg properly, and soon it will be mended.  Do not doubt that for a minute, Gwaurant!"

With that Erestor arose, and, holding the puppy to his chest, he began to run in the direction of the Hall.

At the Hall, Elrond's household by that time had assembled in the dining hall for the noon meal.  Estel was peppering Haldir with questions about Lothlórien.

"_I_ shall journey to Lothlórien someday," Estel declared.  "Won't I, Ada?" he said, turning to Elrond.

"I am sure that you will," agreed Elrond.  "You will journey many places, I do not doubt."

"If that is so," said Estel.  "I should practice my horseback riding as much as possible, shouldn't I?"

"Ye-es," said Elrond slowly.  Where was this leading?

"For example, I _should_ have gone riding this morning—and if Elladan'n'Elrohir'n'Haldir are going riding this afternoon _I _should go!"

The table erupted into laughter.

"I am afraid, little brother," said Elladan gently, "that we are not going horseback riding this afternoon.

Estel looked crushed.

"No, indeed," said Elrohir.  "Instead, we are going swimming."

Estel cheered up immediately.

"Ada, I need to practice my swimming, too.  What if I should fall into a river someday!?"

"You did finish your morning lessons, did you not?"

Estel felt a twinge of guilt.

"Ada, if a boy has twelve problems and finishes nine, has he really left so many problems undone that he may not go swimming?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Elrond.  He turned to Glorfindel.

"Glorfindel, my friend, you do the math!"

"I believe that would leave a remainder of three problems," said the balrog-slayer gravely, "which would mean that three-quarters of the problems were completed.  If my elfling archers achieve such a success rate, I am satisfied."

"In that case," said Elrond, turning back to Estel, "if your brothers and their guest do not object, you may go swimming."

Estel looked over at them hopefully.  They smiled and nodded back at him.  Estel leaped to his feet.

"First I must feed and water Gwaurant," declared Estel.  "Twice a day he must have fresh food and fresh water."

Elrond nodded approvingly as the little human raced off.

"I have never had to remind him to feed and water his puppy."

A few minutes later, Estel was back, an alarmed expression upon his face.

"Ada, Gwaurant is not in his pen!"

"Did you leave the gate open, Estel?"

"No!  It was closed!  Oh, Ada, what if a hawk has taken Gwaurant!"

"I think Gwaurant is much too big to be taken by any of the hawks that live hereabouts.  Think, Estel, is there anyplace else you could have left Gwaurant, anyplace other than the pen?"

Estel thought for a moment, and then a very guilty expression stole over his face.

"Ada, I am afraid that I hid Gwaurant under my cloak this morning and took him into the library.  I put him down after awhile, when Erestor was out of the room, and, and, I guess I must have forgotten about him when and I ran out of the library to see Haldir."

"You _guess_ you forgot about him?" 

"I forgot about him," said Estel miserably.

"He has been in the library for several hours, then."

"Yes, Ada."

"Well, go and fetch your puppy, and then I imagine that you will have quite a bit of cleaning to do.  You had better hope that you can mop up the mess before Erestor discovers it."

"Yes, Ada."

Estel raced off.  Elrond shook his head, smiling.  All too soon, however, his smile faded as Estel, his face streaked with tears, came running back into the garden.

"Ada, there _is_ a mess in the library, and Gwaurant has chewed up a book, but he is not there!  He has gotten out somehow."

Elrond thought that it was highly unlikely that the puppy could have escaped from the library on its own—the heavy doors never stood open and the windows were surely out of reach—but he forbore mentioning that to Estel.

"Estel, what book did Gwaurant chew up?"

"That manuscript Erestor has been working on this past fortnight."

This was not good, but Elrond did not want to alarm the child.

"Estel," he said soothingly, "Gwaurant will probably turn up on his own when he grows hungry.  But if he does not, we will search for him.  For now, clean up the mess in the library, and then go with your brothers and do not allow your concern for your puppy to ruin an afternoon of swimming."

"Yes, Ada," said Estel, his shoulders slumped, his voice dispirited.

When he was gone, Elrond turned to Glorfindel.

"Erestor was not at lunch."

"True."

"Have you seen him at all since he delivered the map?"

"No.  Have you?"

"No."  Elrond sighed.  "The manuscript Erestor has been working on for a fortnight.  I'll warrant that Erestor knows what happened to the puppy."

            Glorfindel nodded, and then the balrog-slayer growled, "If he's done anything to that puppy, I'll, I'll, I'll make him eat the entire Chronicle of Eregion, down to the last sentence!"

            "No, you won't," said Elrond.

            "Yes, I will," insisted Glorfindel.

            "No, you won't.  You'll make him eat the entire Chronicle of Eriador.  It's longer—_and_ dustier!"

            Glorfindel looked wickedly gleeful.

            "Right you are, Elrond.  The Chronicle of Eriador it shall be!"

            "Good.  Now let us return to my chamber and finish drawing up plans for the next sortie to the Misty Mountains."

            As the two elf-lords sat conversing in Elrond's chamber, Erestor, still clutching the puppy to his chest, was racing toward the gates of Rivendell.  He had taken a painfully direct route through the forest, bulling his way through the undergrowth no matter what the cost to his dignity or skin.  His leggings had beein shredded by thorns, and so many leaves were caught in his hair that his head seemed wreathed in them.

            An astonished Door Warden saw the tutor running pell-mell toward the Hall—only he did not realize that it was the tutor.  He thought a half-naked Wild Man had emerged from the forest of Imladris.

"You there," he shouted.  "Stop!  Halt!  Desist!  Wait!  Oooomph!"

"It _is _a Wild Man!" thought the Door Warden as he lay sprawled upon the ground.  "Doesn't understand speech!"  The Door Warden leaped to his feet and set off in pursuit of the Wild Man, who was running full tilt through the corridors of the Hall, knocking aside or running over anyone unfortunate enough to stand in his path.

Elrond was deep in conversation with Glorfindel over the balrog-slayer's plans for the sortie when the door to his chamber banged open and a woodland creature sprang into the room.  It was clad in muddy boots and the remnants of leggings, its face was streaked with dirt, its hair tangled and filled with leaves.  It clutched a bundle to its chest.  Behind it raced the Door Warden, shouting and gesticulating.

The creature came to halt, drew itself upright, and proffered the bundle to Elrond.

"Elrond," it gasped, "quick, take it—ooomph!"

The Door Warden had tackled the creature, and the bundle went flying.  Fortunately, Elrond had the presence of mind to catch it, else things might have gone even worse for the puppy—not to mention Erestor!

"In the name of Manwë," roared Glorfindel, "what is going on here!?"

"The puppy," gasped Erestor, who had been pinned down by the Door Warden, "the puppy."

Quickly Elrond unwrapped the bundle, revealing a puppy that weakly wagged its tail and tried to lick the elf-lord's hand.

"Glorfindel, bring me the bag of herbs from the cupboard yonder.  Then ask the Cook to heat water.  Oh, and fetch some clean towels from the laundry."

The Door Warden was still sitting on top of Erestor.

"Elrond!" cried the tutor.

"Oh, yes, of course."  Elrond nodded at the Warden.  "You may let him up and return to your post.  Thank you." 

Erestor rose to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster, but, as Elrond was intent upon checking the puppy's injuries, it really didn't matter.  The tutor gratefully slipped from the chamber and headed for his own room, there to try to repair the damage to his appearance—not to mention his reputation!

            With Glorfindel holding Gwaurant, Elrond carefully cleaned the puppy's leg.  To his relief, he saw that, although the wound reached to the bone, the leg itself was not broken.  It the injury were cleaned and dressed carefully, the puppy would most likely recover without any crippling injury.  Elrond gently bathed the wound, speaking soothingly to the puppy all the while, spread a healing paste upon it, and firmly bound it with clean linen.  By the time he had finished, the puppy was squirming so vigorously in Glorfindel's hands that it was plain that Estel's little dog was already on the mend.  Elrond wondered if there were such a thing as an elven dog, so remarkable did Gwaurant's recovery seem to be.

            At about this time, Erestor cautiously knocked upon the door.  He could not help but be anxious over the health of the puppy.

            "Enter," called Elrond.

            The picture of diffidence, Erestor entered the room.  Glorfindel all but growled at him, but Elrond silenced the balrog-slayer with a look.

            "As Estel is my student," said Erestor gruffly, "I am of course concerned over his well-being.  He won't be able to concentrate on his studies if anything happens to that dratted dog.  So, I am, uh, of course, concerned."

            "As you have already stated," replied Elrond mildly.  "Do not fear.  Gwaurant likely will recover completely."

            Erestor began to smile but hastily resumed his usual dour expression.

            "That is good, Elrond," he said stiffly.  He turned to leave, but just then the door was flung open with a crash.  Estel had returned from swimming, and the Door Warden had told him that his puppy had been recovered.

            "Ada! Ada!  Is he well!?  Is Gwaurant well!?"

            Elrond reassured the child that his puppy was indeed well.

            "Where had he gotten himself to, Ada?"

            Elrond thought a judicious lie might be in order.  Actually, it was not so much a lie as an explanation that carefully omitted some details and stated others ambiguously enough to allow Estel to reach erroneous conclusions.

"Estel," the elf-lord said gravely.  "You must make sure that you put your puppy in his pen when you are not with him.  Gwaurant ended up in the forest.  Erestor brought him back, but not before Gwaurant and Erestor had encountered a wolf!  Erestor carried Gwaurant back to the Hall."

"Oh!" gasped Estel, carefully hugging his puppy so as not to disturb its injured leg. "Gwaurant, I am _so_ sorry!"

Elrond cleared his throat.

"Thank you for bringing back my puppy, Erestor," the child added quickly.

Erestor hardly knew how to look.

"You are welcome, Estel," he said awkwardly.

Glorfindel was smirking at Erestor's discomfort.

"Erestor, how kind of you to bring back Estel's puppy.  As you have taken such pains over Gwaurant, I gather that you no longer object to his presence in the Hall.  Perhaps you will now even permit him to accompany Estel into the library."

Erestor turned a little pale, and Elrond decided that he had best intervene.

"I think the puppy is still a little too rambunctious to be permitted in the library."

Erestor looked relieved.

"Of course," added Elrond, "not all learning takes place in a library.  Erestor, Gwaurant has returned from his, ah, adventure, rather dirty.  As Estel's tutor, could you show the lad how to properly bathe his puppy?  It seems to me that it would be highly appropriate for you to take on this task—indeed, I can think of no Elf for whom it would be more fitting."

For centuries Erestor had watched Elrond as he meted out painfully appropriate punishments upon members of his household.  Ai!  How humiliating to be on the receiving end of one of the elf-lord's judgments!

The next morning, Erestor and Estel met in the garden next to Gwaurant's pen, where the Head Gardener had caused a small tub to be placed.  Erestor helped Estel fill it with several inches of water, and then the two went to the kitchen, where a pot of water had been heated for them.  Returning to the garden, they carefully measured hot water into the tub until Erestor judged that it was the proper temperature.  Removing Gwaurant's collar, they lifted the puppy into the water.  Erestor then sat back to 'superintend'.  He sighed but consoled himself by thinking that at least the puppy would no longer stink.  Of course, Erestor thought gloomily to himself, even if the puppy no longer stank, Estel still would.  Odd, the child had just gone swimming the day before, and yet he had still managed to once again collect the usual odors that could be detected by anyone who came within six feet of him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from Estel.

"Erestor, I cannot make Gwaurant stay in the water!"

Erestor looked over at the boy, who was struggling to keep the wet and wriggling puppy in the tub.  Suddenly he had an inspiration.

"Estel, the puppy does not know what you want of him.  You must show him."

"Show him?"

"Yes, you must climb into the tub and sit in the water.  Gwaurant will imitate you, I am sure."

Estel made as if to climb into the tub.

"Estel, remember that we removed Gwaurant's collar."

"Oh, of course."

Estel quickly kicked off boots, tunic, and leggings and then climbed into the tub, cheerfully plopping himself down in the water beside Gwaurant.  As Erestor had predicted, the puppy stopped trying to climb out of the tub.

"Now," continued Erestor slyly, "you must show the puppy that he is to be lathered up.  Wet your hair, and rub some of that soap into it."

So enthusiastically did Estel launch into this part of the puppy's 'lesson', that he was soon almost invisible beneath a layer of foam.

"Make sure that you clean yourself all over," called Erestor, "as the puppy will have to be cleaned all over.  Your legs, your arms, your hands, your feet, your neck—don't miss a spot, else Gwaurant may balk when it comes time to wash that part of _his_ body."

Estel could be very thorough when he chose to be, and this was one of those times.  When he was done, it seemed to Erestor that his hair was several shades lighter.  The tutor also noticed for the first time that Estel had a birthmark, one that looked very much like the elven word for nine.

"How curious," Erestor thought.  "I believe Anomen has a birthmark that is very similar."  But then he turned his attention back to the puppy's lesson.

"I think you may lather up the puppy now, Estel.  You have done an excellent job of demonstrating to him how he must be bathed."

As enthusiastically as Estel had bathed himself, he now bathed his puppy.  And this is how Gandalf and Anomen found them as, having just arrived at Rivendell, they passed through the garden.

"Goodness!" exclaimed the wizard.  "Has there been magic at work here?"

"No," replied the tutor smugly.  "This is my doing."

"Well, well, Erestor, you have outdone yourself—and performed a great service to the denizens of Imladris!  I hope you will be able to repeat the performance."

"Can we," asked Estel eagerly.

Erestor looked solemn.

"Of course, we would not want to bathe the puppy _too_ often—"

"Oh, please, Erestor!"

"—but there would probably be no harm in bathing him once a week—perhaps more often if he is particularly dirty."

"Thank you, Erestor!  Thank you!"

Erestor waved his hand dismissively.

"Think nothing of it, Estel.  Think nothing of it."  The tutor turned to Anomen, who was nearly choking as he attempted not to laugh.

"Anomen, would you be so kind as to run up to Estel's chamber to fetch him clean leggings and tunic—oh, and we need an extra towel, for we only brought the one for Gwaurant?"

Anomen nodded—he did not trust himself to speak!—and he hurried off.  Returning soon with the requested items, he toweled off Estel while Erestor carefully dried Gwaurant.

"There now," said the tutor at last.  "Now Gwaurant must be taken to Elrond so that he can dress the wound anew.  Anomen, would you help Estel carry the puppy to Elrond's chamber while I will empty the water and tidy up hereabouts?"

"Yes, Erestor," replied Anomen, who had finally found his voice.  "I shall be glad to."

Off went the young Elf and the little human, leaving Gandalf behind to both chaff and assist Erestor.  In short order the garden was restored to its former state, and Erestor strolled off with Gandalf to enjoy a quiet—and well-earned!—conversation about their respective doings over the last few months. 

Meanwhile, Anomen, carrying Gwaurant, had accompanied Estel to Elrond's chamber.

"Ah, Anomen, back at last," declared that elf-lord.  "And has Gandalf come as well?"

"Yes, Ada.'

"Excellent," said the elf-lord, possibly referring both to the return of Anomen and Gandalf as well as the condition of Gwaurant's leg.  "You will be glad to know that Haldir has only just arrived, carrying letters from Lothlórien."

"Haldir!" exclaimed Anomen.  "May I be dismissed, Ada?  I would very much like to see him."

"Yes, of course, Anomen.  Here, that will do it," said Elrond, handing the newly bandaged puppy to Estel.  "Estel, put Gwaurant back in his pen.  He should rest for a bit.  Then no doubt you can help Anomen find his friend Haldir.'

"Yes, Ada," said Estel cheerfully.  Chattering gaily, he and Anomen hurried off.

Only a few minutes later Elrond heard a knock on the door.  Before he could even say, "Enter," the twins burst into his chamber.  Elrond frowned, but they ignored his expression.

"The Door Warden says that Anomen has come back!  Is that so?"  They spoke as one.

"Yes, he is back—as is Gandalf.  And now they have returned, I think it is time to hold a feast in honor of our guest from Lothlórien."

"A feast," exclaimed Elrohir.  "That would be wonderful!"

"Yes, and the highlight of the feast will be a dance."

"A dance?" said Elladan, looking blank.

"Yes, a dance.  I am sure that you are familiar with the concept.  Graceful movement in time to music."

"And with whom," said Elrohir cautiously, "will we be dancing?"

"The elf-maidens, of course.  They have been petitioning their matron these many months for an opportunity to dance with the young elves.  The matron's words to me were that, 'The elf-maidens are dying for a dance'."

"And now," said Elladan gloomily, "_we_ shall be 'dying for a dance'."

"I assure you," said Elrond smiling, "that dancing with elf-maidens is much less painful than dancing with Orcs.  And," he teased, "dancing is often a prelude to other activities that, I have it on good authority, you two have lately been expressing interest in."

Both young Elves blushed.

"Elladan," said Elrohir hastily, "let us go find Haldir and inform him of the upcoming festivities.'

"Aye, brother, let's."

With that, the twins retreated, leaving Elrond in sole possession of his chamber for the first time in several days.

Elladan and Elrohir found Haldir in the Hall of Fire in deep conversation with Glorfindel over the relative merits of the bow versus the sword.  The twins hailed them and then began to tease the Lórien Elf.

"Haldir," grinned Elrohir.  "We have got something fun planned for you!"

            Haldir looked at him warily.  He was well aware of what Elrohir considered to be 'fun'.  Elladan laughed at the Lórien Elf's expression.

            "Why, Haldir," he teased, "you look as if you are about to walk into a nest of Orcs."

            "Hmmph," Haldir shot back.  "I'd feel safer if I were!"

            Elrohir professed astonishment.  "Haldir has just told a _joke_."

            Elladan pretended to do a double-take.  "By the Valar, next you know Erestor will be telling jokes, too!"

            "Elladan, Elrohir," growled Glorfindel.  "A little more deference toward your elders, if you please."

            "Oh, of _course_, my Lord Glorfindel," said Elrohir in mock contriteness.  "How _could_ we have been _so_ disrespectful to an elder Eldar!"

Glorfindel looked as if he were about to release the balrog-slayer within, so the twins seized Haldir and began to drag him away.

"Let's go find Anomen and tell him about the plans," suggested Elladan.  

At this very moment, Anomen and Estel were looking for Haldir, of course, and at last the two groups of searchers met up outside the stables.  Haldir and Anomen embraced each other warmly, but before they could exchange news, Elrohir triumphantly informed the two about the planned feast.  He made sure to stress that there would be _dancing_ with _elf-maidens_.

Anomen was appalled.  He had always been uncomfortable at formal gatherings in Greenwood.  This sounded worse than any of those gatherings.  Moreover, the teasing of the twins made matters sound even more awful than they were.

"You had better practice smiling, Anomen," Elladan warned him.  "The entire night you are going to be surrounded by swooning Elf maidens."

"Yes," agreed Elrohir.  "And when they are not swooning, they will be tweaking your nose and saying how cute it is."

"And," added Elladan, "they will be running their hands through your hair, exclaiming how soft it is."

Even Haldir finally got into the spirit of things.

"And when they are not tweaking your nose, they will be pinching your cheek," he giggled.

This chaffing went on for several days.  At last, a desperate Anomen went to see Gandalf as the day of the feast drew near.

"Gandalf, would you please cast a spell that will make me ugly for the evening of the dance?"

More than a little taken aback by such an odd request, Gandalf stared at the young Elf.

"Anomen," he spluttered, "I am a wizard, not a miracle-worker!  Whatever makes you think I would cast such a spell?"

"Isn't it true that a wizard can turn a prince into a frog?  If that is so, surely it would be easy for you to give me warts and a squint!"

"What in Middle Earth are you talking about!?"

"Gandalf, I have read in the tales of Men that wizards are continually changing princes into frogs.  Surely, then, it would be a simple matter for you to make me as ugly as an amphibian!"

"Ah, the books of Men—Glorfindel has told me all about your fascination with their absurd but entertaining tales.  I also believe that he once explained to you that the real world is nothing like the world of fantasy that one finds in those tales."

"Of course," the wizard went on thoughtfully, "it is true that the fantasy world created by Men can be a very alluring place.  They go to much trouble to make it so.  I have seen books of Men in which they describe entirely imaginary lands, complete with invented geographies, languages, histories, creatures, and customs.  Such tales may cast an enchantment that even a wizard would be hard put to equal.  Remarkable achievement, really."

Anomen was impatient.  Gandalf's musings were not solving his problem.

"Gandalf," he moaned, "I _am_ concerned with the real world just now.  Elrohir and Elladan say that, come the dance, I will be pursued the entire night by elf-maidens.  And they say the maidens will not leave off caressing my hair and holding my hand and pinching my cheeks!"

Gandalf was tempted to say, "Which cheeks?" but thought better of it.  Instead, he decided to be avuncular.

"There are worse things than to be pursued by maidens, Anomen," declaimed the wizard in his best 'wise counselor' voice.

"I don't know what," said Anomen miserably.

"Being pursued by Wargs, for one thing—I believe you have a little experience in that area.  Or, _not_ being pursued by maidens.  That can be very bad."

"_Not_ being pursued by maidens?" said Anomen, puzzled.

 "Now tell me truly, Anomen.  If Elladan and Elrohir and Haldir and all the others are being pursued by maidens all evening and you are not, how will you feel?"

"Delighted!"

"Oh, no, you won't.  If all your friends are surrounded by admiring maidens and you are being ignored, you will feel lonely and wistful, I can assure you."

"Pray tell me, Gandalf," Anomen retorted, "are you speaking from experience?"

Gandalf's eyes glittered dangerously as he returned Anomen's gaze.

"I have been pursued by many creatures, some dangerous, some—dangerous.  And now, if you don't leave off badgering me, mayhap I _should_ change you into one of those frogs that you have been reading about."

"I thought you said you couldn't," teased Anomen.

"You did not listen carefully.  I said I wouldn't, not that I couldn't."

The Istar raised his staff.  Anomen decided that it was true, as Men are wont to say, that "discretion is the better part of valor."  The young Elf vanished like, well, like magic.

Gandalf chuckled and then grew thoughtful.  After a bit he sighed.

"I should look her up again sometime," he muttered.  Then he shrugged his shoulders and took out his pipe.  "If it's not an Orc gets in the way, it's a Warg.  Well, well, next Age, maybe." 

Anomen had meanwhile betaken himself to the garden, there to brood over the trial that faced him the next evening.

"I could dye my hair green," he mused.  "Or I could chop it off altogether.  I could rub dirt into my face.  Ugh!" he exclaimed, shuddering, "I think not!"

"Or you could attend the dance in your usual guise, make Elrond proud of you, and mayhap even enjoy yourself."

"Glorfindel!  How long have you been standing there!?"

"Long enough," smirked the balrog-slayer.  "Tell me, Anomen, how is it that an Elf who has faced Dunlendings, Wargs, and Orcs, quails at the thought of entering a room filled with nothing more fearful than a band of laughing maidens?  I am surprised to find that you lack courage in the face of such adversaries!"

"It's not courage that I lack!" protested Anomen.

"Oh, then what is it?"

"It's, it's—I don't know what I lack!"

"Ah, mayhap because you lack nothing at all."

Anomen considered.  What was there to prevent him from enjoying himself at tomorrow's gathering?  After awhile, he shook his head.  Nothing, actually.  He looked up at Glorfindel and grinned.

"Oh, very well, Glorfindel.  I shall not do anything to my hair or face.  But if I am swarmed by maidens, you must come to my rescue!"

"Only if I do not need rescuing myself," Glorfindel said gravely.  "Do not forget that I am the balrog-slayer, a fact which many maidens find alluring.  And now, if you will pardon me, I am turning in early tonight.  I need to hoard my energy for the morrow.  You should rest as well.  You wouldn't want to disappoint any of the maidens, would you?"

With that, Glorfindel gave an elaborate bow and then turned away, leaving behind a very perplexed young Elf.

The next evening, immediately after a most excellent dinner, Elladan, Elrohir, Anomen, and Haldir cautiously entered the Hall of Fire in company with other, equally apprehensive young Elves.  There, on the far side of the chamber, clustered the elf-maidens, whispering to one another.  Elves on one side, elf-maidens on the other, it seemed as if there were an insurmountable, if invisible, barricade between the two groups.

Elrohir poked Anomen.  "That's Malthenêl."

"Malthenêl?"

"Glorfindel's niece!"

"Oh, yes, of course."

Malthenêl was the elf-maiden whom Elrohir had spoken of one day when they been out patrolling for signs of Orcs.  Dreamily, he had spun plans to ask her to accompany him riding.  To Anomen's knowledge, however, Elrohir had never actually worked up the nerve to actually approach her.

"What do you think of her?" said Elrohir, his face even dreamier than it had been on that prior occasion, if that were at all possible.

"She's very pretty.  But her hair is unusual for a Rivendell Elf.  It's golden."

"Troll-brain, what were you expecting!?  She comes of Glorfindel's family.  Kin usually resemble one another.  _Your_ kin have golden hair, too.  Your father…."  Elrohir's voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying.  Anomen studied him carefully, unsure how he should react.

"Uh, what I mean is," Elrohir continued carefully, "that, no doubt your relatives, such as your father—just as an example!—have hair similar to yours.  Golden-haired children generally have golden-haired parents.  Um, does—did your father have golden hair?"

"Ye-es, I believe he did."

"Blue eyes, too, I'll wager."

"Um, yes, I think he did have blue eyes."

"So you look like him, isn't that right?"

"I suppose so, but" said Anomen, eager to change the subject, "tell me more about Malthenêl."

"There isn't much to tell.  We are age mates and we have always been good friends.  We used to play together quite a bit when we were little elflings.  You know how it is—the little elf lads and elf-maidens spend lots of time together romping about until several centuries have passed and they develop separate interests.  And then, after a few more centuries have passed, they once again long to spend lots of time together!"

Actually, Anomen did _not_ know 'how it is', and he found Elrohir's casual familiarity with Malthenêl to be fascinating.  Until the age of five, he had had only one playmate, a little male elfling named Tathar.  Once he had been swept away to the Great Hall of King Thranduil, he really could not be said to have had _any_ playmates—at least not until he had made the acquaintance of his cousin Tawarmaenas.  But that had not happened for several decades.

As he thought about his life in Mirkwood, he realized that he could not have been the only elfling.  He vaguely remembered that some elf lads and elf-maidens had been present in the Great Hall for various ceremonies and festivals.  Their presence had meant little to him, however, for he had always devoted all his energy to guarding against any public misstep that might have drawn his father's attention and provoked his disapproval.

"I wonder," he thought to himself, "if I will ever make any friends among the elf-maidens."  Then he bethought himself of the fact that, in spite of his lack of prior friendships with elf lads, he had easily become close to the twins and had gone on to make many other friends, both in Imladris and in Lothlórien.  Moreover, he and Arwen had always been fond of one another.  He had never felt shy around her.  He had never thought of her as an elf-maiden, but she was his foster-sister, and sisters were maidens.  Ergo, Arwen was a maiden.  If he had been able to talk to her, then why not to a maiden who was not his sister?  Could it be that much more difficult?

Anomen looked with renewed interest at the elf-maidens who had clustered together on the far side of the Hall of Fire.  Malthenêl, of course, he would not approach.  Elrohir would assuredly come up with something awful if he did—paint his face orange while he slept, no doubt.  He also noticed that Elladan could not leave off staring at a maiden who had been visiting from Lórien for several months—Meluifaer she was called, and she was kin to Haldir, although her hair was several shades darker than that Elf's.  Perhaps she came of a union between an Imladris and a Lothlórien Elf.

As Anomen continued to gaze at the elf-maidens, he realized that he did know a few of them.  That raven-haired maiden was Celaimîr, daughter of the Head Armorer and sister to Celaithrand, whom had served with Anomen in Taurmeldir's patrol.  Anomen had inevitably made her acquaintance on the long, sunny afternoons when he had had to serve penance for some misdeed or another by polishing, polishing, polishing.  Celaimîr would sometimes—actually, frequently—accompany her father to the armory on those days, and Anomen was invariably glad when she did, for her laughter and singing made the tedious hours pass more quickly.

That elf-maiden over there, with hair the color of honey, that was Lendsiniath, daughter of the Head Cook.  Anomen had become familiar with her in the same way that he had come to know Celaimîr.  When the Head Cook did catch Anomen raiding the kitchen—truth be told, he did it as frequently as Elladan and Elrohir but got away with it more often—he was set to scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.  Lendsiniath would not only entertain him by singing and telling stories; she would also slip him bits of pastries or other delicacies.

It began to dawn upon Anomen that he had spent more hours in the company of elf-maidens that he had at first reckoned—he simply hadn't realized it at the time.  Still, the thought of openly striking up a conversation with an elf-maiden because, well, because she _was_ an elf-maiden, that was daunting.

Anomen studied the elf-maidens ever more intently.  The one with green eyes, that was Miluithand, daughter of Berenmaethor.  But that maiden over there, he did not think he had ever met her.

"Elrohir, the golden-haired maiden talking to Lendsiniath, who is she?"

"Ah, that is Malthenrî, twin sister to Malthenêl.  She is a little wilder than her sister, however."

"Wilder?"

"Aye.  She was forever wandering off when she was younger—once she made it all the way to Eregion before the scouts caught up with her.  Another time, she went east!  Crossed the River Bruinen somehow and was found just past the Bridge of Mitheithel , the Last Bridge.

Anomen was impressed.

"I would like to meet her."

"Well, go on then."

"Um, you don't suppose you could introduce me, do you?"

"No.  I don't suppose I could."

Elrohir laughed at Anomen's appalled face.

"Look," he suggested.  "Malthenêl and Malthenrî are standing next to Erestor's chair.  Shouldn't we pay our respects to our old tutor?"

"Oh, yes," said Anomen eagerly.  "We would be remiss in our duty if we did not," he added drolly.

Seemingly nonchalant, the two Elves strolled over to Erestor.

"Lord Erestor," proclaimed Elrohir formally, "you look well."

"Yes, Lord Erestor," opined Anomen, his voice solemn and a trifle deeper than usual.  "You look very well indeed.  Our congratulations."

"Your 'congratulations'?  Rather an overblown word for the occasion, as looking well is no great achievement.  Didn't I teach you better than that?"

The two young Elves went scarlet all the way to the pointed tips of their ears.  Out of the corner of their eyes, they could see that the two elf-maidens were stifling giggles.

"Um, your pardon, Lord Erestor," said Anomen humbly, his voice back in its normal register.  "I am glad that you are well."

"Thank you, Anomen.  It is kind of you to come all the way across the room to greet an old stick of a tutor—especially," Erestor twitted, "when the room is filled with so many enchanting elf-maidens."

The flush had been fading from Anomen and Elrohir's faces, but it was renewed by Erestor's latest gibe.  The two young Elves suspected that Erestor was deriving not a little enjoyment from paying them back for those moments when they had connived at ways to distract the tutor from their lessons.

"Well," continued Erestor, "as you have been so kind as to come by to visit with me, perhaps I could prevail upon you to fetch me a glass of wine.  Moreover," the tutor added, turning toward Malthenrî and Malthenêl, "no doubt these charming elf-maidens are thirsty as well.  As you are going to be fetching a glass for me, mayhap you should bring them goblets as well."

Erestor winked at the astonished Elves.

"Ah, ah, ah," stammered Anomen to Malthenrî, "would you care for, ah, a glass of wine?"  His voice squeaked on that final word, but Malthenrî made as if she didn't notice.

"Thank you, Anomen.  I would indeed appreciate a bit of wine," she said softly.

"She knows my name!" Anomen thought with mingled amazement and delight.

An equally flustered Elrohir had by then likewise managed to offer to fetch a glass for Malthenêl.  The two young Elves hardly knew how they managed to navigate from one side of the room to the other, but soon they once again stood before the elf-maidens, this time with goblets in hand.  They had forgotten to bring a glass for Erestor, but the tutor did not comment upon the omission.  Instead, groaning, he arose from his chair.

"I am several centuries too old for these gatherings.  Pray excuse me.  I need to rest so that I may summon up enough strength to deal with Estel on the morrow."

The tutor gave an exaggerated bow and sauntered off.  It was not until very much later that Anomen noticed that Erestor had in fact never left the room but had settled himself in a chair near Glorfindel, Elrond, and Gandalf, there to talk genially with his old friends until it was nearly dawn.  But even though he then realized that his tutor had 'set him up', he did not care in the least.  Gandalf was right, he had decided: in Middle Earth there were many things decidedly worse than spending an evening talking and flirting with a charming elf-maiden.


	9. The Bee Pastures Of Beorn

_Karri: _Well, as Elrond observed, not all learning takes place in the schoolroom.

_Jebb__: _Yes, Erestor may have his irritating points, but essentially he is a kind character.

_Farflung__: _Actually, I missed a couple of 'number nine' opportunities: baby Frodo and baby Gimli!  I've added that to my growing 'to do' list.

_Joee__: _Yes, I think the two are perfect for each other.

_Ninyo__: _No, I'm not offended.  Also wasn't offended by the first reviewer-just surprised and curious.  ^_^   After reading your review, I have to concede that you make several excellent points.  On the continuum from chaffing to teasing to bullying, a reader could easily place the twins toward the bullying end of the scale.  However, I don't think they are anywhere near the _top_ of the scale.  First, they like to disconcert and embarrass (I think 'humiliate' is too strong a word), but they do not intend to mete out any severe or lasting psychic injury.  Second, their actions did cause physical harm in at least two instances, but not intentionally.  It is true that they should have thought through their actions, of course, but that failing-lack of forethought-in itself shows that they did not foresee the pain that they would inflict.  Third, they only target their peers and superiors-they never go after anyone younger or weaker.  For example, Estel is exempt because he is too young and vulnerable.  Fourth, the most outrageous pranks were all committed when they were younger.  Now they pretty much confine themselves to teasing, something even Gandalf indulges in on occasion (not to mention Elrond and Glorfindel!).  Of course, teasing (like most humor-see Jay Leno's monologues!) depends on targeting someone, but generally the teasing in these tales is (I hope!) affectionate and reciprocal.  Phew, I'm starting to write an essay, but your review was very interesting, so I can't help it!  Anyway, in conclusion (on the subject of the twins, anyway), yes, Elladan and Elrohir have engaged in bullying to some extent and may even do so in the future.  I don't think I'm going to change their personalities.  I guess you can put down their bullying tendencies as their character flaw, like Erestor's stiffness, and Glorfindel's gruffness.  Now about Thranduil: it is absolutely true that he has been an awful father.  However, I would be interested to hear from you whether, and if so, why, you think his current behavior toward Tawarmaenas is not sufficiently 'fatherly'.  Or was his earlier behavior simply so unforgivable that no matter what he does you cannot warm to his character?  Review again soon!  ^_^ 

_Konzen_and _Dark of Stars: _Yes,Erestor turns out alright in the end, doesn't he?

_Grumpy: _Isn't it ironic that it is Erestor, of all Elves, who solves the bath problem!?

_Dragonfly: _Um, actually, I forgot to mention that the 'Orc storm' won't be in this chapter but the next one.  Sorry!

_dd9736: _Yes, Anomen tongue-tied (or any Elf, for that matter!) is something that probably only occurs once a millennium.

Vocabulary

Laegmagol-'Sharp Sword'

Laegmegil-'Sharp Sword'

Lagormagol-'Swift Sword'

Lagormegil-'Swift Sword'

Maegcrist-'Sharp Sword'

Maeglang-'Sharp Sword'

Megorcrist-'Sharp Sword'

Megorlang-'Sharp Sword' 

            The forest of Greenwood could be seen in the distance, and both Thranduil and Tawarmaenas smiled with joy.  The trip had been pleasant for both of them, but they had also come to appreciate just how much they loved Greenwood and felt at home beneath its trees.  Both felt some surprise at this discovery.  For different reasons, each had long believed that he would never again be 'at home' anywhere, least of all Greenwood.

            A jovial Gilglîr was waiting for them as they rode up to the entrance of the Great Hall.

            "Mae govannen, my friends!" he called out as they dismounted.  "Mae govannen!  I have missed you both."

            "And I you," declared Thranduil, clapping a hand upon Gilglîr's shoulder and giving a hearty squeeze.

            "And I likewise!" chimed in Tawarmaenas, grinning at the Seneschal.  "And I am going to make up for it by bending your ear for hours as I recite all the marvelous things I have seen!"

            Gilglîr laughed.  "I look forward to having said ear bent."

            The three friends went in together, and Tawarmaenas kept his promise, faithfully describing all he and his uncle had seen and done on their journey, leaving out nothing, not even the color of one dwarven hood.

            "By the Valar!" Gilglîr finally exclaimed, "Tawarmaenas, you have lost me at last!  I cannot tell Bifur from Bofur and Dori from Nori!"

            "Nor could we," chuckled Thranduil.  "Although I am sure the Dwarves right now are recounting their own bewilderment over the Elves whom they could tell apart no more easily than we could tell them apart.  Did you know that in our escort rode Maegcrist and Megorcrist, Maegland and Megorland, Laegmagol and Laegmegil, not to mention Lagormagol and Lagormegil, as well as-."

            "Enough!" cried Gilglîr.  "You have made your point.  But, Thranduil, how liberal-minded of you!" said the Seneschal in pretend astonishment.  "To see matters from the point of view of others-and of Dwarves, no less!"

            Thranduil smiled.

            "Truly, Gilglîr, this journey was intended to open Tawarmaenas' eyes to the peoples and customs of Middle Earth, but it is certain I have learned no less than he.  I look forward to the next stage of our journey-although I would like to spend a few weeks enjoying this realm before we resume our travels."

            "I would like that as well," said Tawarmaenas eagerly.  In the weeks before their departure, and with the encouragement of his uncle, he had begun to make friends among the younger Elves, and he wanted a chance to recount his adventures to these new companions, as well as to learn how they had spent their time in his absence.

            "No doubt that would be wise," agreed Gilglîr.  "Indeed, there are several matters that have been held in abeyance until your return, Thranduil, and it would be good if you disposed of them before you rode on to Lothlórien."

            "Putting me back to work at once," grumbled Thranduil with mock exasperation.  "Ah, well, as Men are wont to say, 'Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown'."

            "I think you may be taking that out of context," said Gilglîr, "but never mind."  The Seneschal arose.  "I should allow you the opportunity to unpack and refresh yourself before I make demands upon you."

            "How very kind of you," teased Thranduil, "to set aside time for me to rest.  You govern me well.  Indeed, every king should have such a ruler!"

            For the next fortnight, Thranduil busied himself with attending to the needs of his kingdom, and he did so not only from a sense of duty but also out of a newly reawakened love and concern for his subjects.  As for Tawarmaenas, some mornings Thranduil encouraged the young Elf to accompany him to the presence chamber so that he could see how his uncle adjudicated disputes, but even so, Thranduil made sure that his nephew had the afternoons to spend as he liked.  Tawarmaenas quickly rejoined his friends and spent many hours in their company, shooting, wrestling, and both climbing and running through the trees.

            At the end of the fortnight, as planned, Thranduil, Tawarmaenas, and their escort set out for Lothlórien, this time accompanied by Gilglîr as well.  Tawarmaenas thought that there could never have been a more genial company than theirs.  The warriors who were escorting them were carefree and sang as they rode, for they were on the plain and would have seen any foes from afar.  Tawarmaenas found himself joining in, and then, to his astonishment, he heard the voice of his uncle rising above the others.  He had never heard his uncle sing.  His uncle had, he decided, a very fine voice!

            After sundown, however, the Elves became much more vigilant.  There was no moon, and clouds obscured the stars.  Gilglîr was careful to post sentries that night.

            "Laegmagol and Lagormagol," the Seneschal called, "you take the first watch.  Laegmegil and Lagormegil, you take the second.  No! No!" he protested as Laegmegil and Lagormegil jumped to their feet, "I said that Laegmagol and Lagormagol should take the first watch, not Laegmegil and-oh, never mind!  Two of you take the first watch; the other two take the second!"

             Thranduil and Tawarmaenas shook with silent laughter.

            "I thought only Dwarves believe that 'all Elves look alike'!" twitted Tawarmaenas as Gilglîr rolled himself up in his blanket.

            Grumbled Gilglîr in reply, "Mayhap the King should decree that certain names be retired-as well as any names that resemble them!"

            "I will think on it," said Thranduil with mock solemnity.  "You see, Tawarmaenas, how a King must attend to every detail, even down to the naming of his subjects!"

            Tawarmaenas smiled, partly he enjoyed the light-hearted banter between King and Seneschal, partly because he was glad that _he_ was not going to be the one who had to be concerned with the actual details of ruling a kingdom.  With that happy thought, he fell asleep.

              Later that night, Tawarmaenas awoke to a whispered conversation between Gilglîr and one of the sentries.

            "My Lord, a great bear, larger than any I have ever seen, is circling the encampment."

            "What does he do as he circles?"

            "From time to time he arises upon his hind legs, and as he does so, he looks outward, away from the camp."

            "Ah, is that so?"

            "Shall I shoot?" asked the sentry.

            "Do nothing," said Gilglîr placidly.  "Indeed, you and your fellow guard may stand down.  It will no longer be necessary for anyone to keep watch."

            The sentry stared at the Seneschal.  "But my Lord, the bear!"

            "Exactly.  The bear.  We are safer now than if the entire lot of us were assigned to guard duty.  Take this opportunity to rest.  Later, when we cross the Misty Mountains, you may be glad that you hoarded your strength when you had the opportunity."

            The guard was perplexed, but he trusted Gilglîr and so did as he was ordered.  The entire night, the bear circled the camp, and no foe molested them.  In the morning, Gilglîr suggested that, before proceeding any further, they pay their respects to Beorn, who lived thereabouts.

            "You think that would be wise?" asked Thranduil.  "I have heard that the Beornings are jealous of their domain and do not encourage visitors."

            "Not only do I think it wise, I think it imperative," replied Gilglîr.

            Tawarmaenas wondered why Gilglîr thought it necessary that they visit someone if his uncle was leery of doing so.  Perhaps Gilglîr would explain later.  If not, he would have to wheedle the information out of the Seneschal sometime.

            The elven company rode on as Gilglîr directed.  By and by, they could hear a humming noise.  It grew louder and louder, and at last they found themselves in the midst of what could only be described as an enormous pasture of the most curious sort.  For they saw no horses or cows or sheep grazing in this immense field; instead, it was filled with energetic-and very large!-bees that flitted busily between patches of clover of every description-cockscomb clover and purple clover and white honey-smelling clover.

            Thranduil was now as curious as his nephew.

            "These must be what Mithrandir has described as 'bee-pastures'."

            "Bee-pastures?"

            "Yes, Tawarmaenas.   Beorn and his kin live largely upon honey and cream.  They pasture bees the way others pasture kine."

             After riding yet further, they saw a stand of tall oak trees.

            "Beyond yonder trees," said Gilglîr, "there should be a high thorn-hedge.  A wooden gate will permit us to pass through this otherwise impenetrable barrier, and we will then see many gardens and wooden buildings of every description-barns, stables, sheds, one very large house, and of course hives, the dwellings of the bees.  These structures may seem rustic, for many are thatched and constructed out of unshaped logs.  But do not be deceived by their simplicity!  Mithrandir has told us that Beorn is the wisest and cleverest of shape-changers.  He would be a formidable foe should we offend him."

            "Shape-changer?"

            Gilglîr smiled at Tawarmaenas.

            "You may soon see, Tawarmaenas, a marvel equal to any that you have hitherto witnessed.  And mark well his servants.  They are no less marvelous than their master!"

            As they passed through the gate, Tawarmaenas began to look about eagerly for either the master or his servants, but all he saw were horses-although it must be said that these horses looked remarkably intelligent, even wiser, he was forced to admit, than their elven horses.  These latter steeds, though, whinnied with joy and stretched their necks toward Beorn's horses, and Tawarmaenas was certain that they were greeting each other as kin, however distant.

            Although Tawarmaenas saw many horses, he saw no Men.

            "Where are his servants?" he asked Gilglîr in bewilderment.

            "Observe carefully," was his reply.

            A horse trotted up to Thranduil's steed, and for all the world this intelligent horse looked as if he were looking over both horse and rider.  After examining them for several minutes, he whinnied, tossed his head, and galloped toward the long wooden house.

            "We should now await the master," said Gilglîr, dismounting.  It dawned upon Tawarmaenas that the horses _were_ the servants, and that one of them had just gone to summon Beorn.  Truly Gilglîr was right.  The servants were indeed marvelous, and how much more so would be the master!

            That master was not long in coming.  From the house issued forth an extraordinarily tall Man.

            "Why, he is as tall as a Troll!" exclaimed Tawarmaenas, a little fearful.

            "Yet he is no Troll," said Gilglîr.  "Indeed it would not be wise for any Troll to come within miles of this place.  Nor do Orcs or Wargs venture near, not unless they are desirous of being parted from their skins!"

            By now all the company had dismounted, and they waited respectfully as the tall Man drew near.

            "Well," he growled, "so you have come at last.  I had hoped you would accept my invitation."

            Invitation? thought Tawarmaenas.  When had they received any such invitation?  Tawarmaenas could recall the arrival of no messenger.

            Thranduil addressed the Man respectfully.

            "We were honored to receive your summons, Master Beorn, for we know that you do not lightly ask strangers into your domain."

            "Not altogether strangers, King Thranduil.  We are neighbors, after all, and we have long provided your realm with honey and cream."

            "True," replied Thranduil politely.  "And my people have not forgotten the aid you afforded us in the Battle of the Five Armies."

            "And it is aid that I would provide once again.  From their redoubts in the Misty Mountains, the Orcs have increasingly been mounting forays against travelers.  Your company is well-armed and well-mounted, but if they take you unawares, things may go ill for you.  With your leave, I had thought to send some of my servants with you as scouts.  Elves can speak to many birds and beasts, but my servants can converse with many more."

            Thranduil inclined his head.

            "You are most kind, Master Beorn, and I gladly accept your offer.  Such scouts would be invaluable."

            "Good, good.  And now set loose your horses amongst mine-they will be well cared for!-and come into my house.  For this night you must dine and dwell with me."

            "With joy and gratitude we will do so," replied Thranduil.  "Your board is renowned, and justly so, judging from the honey and cream that have been sent to our larders over the years."

            "And to good effect," laughed Beorn, "for surely you Elves of Greenwood have honeyed tongues!"

            All laughed, and in short order the Elves found themselves seated on benches at a low tables set upon trestles and being served, to Tawarmaenas delight, by ponies and sheep and long-bodied gray dogs.  They feasted upon bread and sweet butter and honey and clotted cream-simple fair but fresh and filling.  For drink there was mead altogether as satisfying as the best Dorwinion wine, and the Elves drank as deeply as Dwarves.

            Once they had finished the meal, Beorn's servants set out straw mattresses and woolen blankets for the guests.  Tawarmaenas, however, was a long way from being tired.  He was fascinated by Beorn's equine companions and servants.

            "May I go outside to look upon the horses?" he asked his host.

            "Yes, but do not stray far-and be sure to be back within these walls before sundown."

            Tawarmaenas agreed and eagerly hastened outside.  Several of Beorn's horses trotted up to him and gazed intently into the face of the young Elf.  Tawarmaenas was sure that the horses knew what he was thinking, and he felt as if he could almost read their minds as well.  Not too surprisingly, so great was his fascination that he overstayed his time, and Beorn came to fetch him as the sun began to slip below the horizon.  

            "You are a young Elf to be in the company of all those warriors," said Beorn to Tawarmaenas as they walked back to the house.

            "No," rejoined Tawarmaenas cheerfully, "I would have to be a much older Elf _not_ to be in the company of all those warriors!"

            Beorn smiled at his wit.  "True, true.  Young as you are, it is good that you are in the company of these valiant Elves.  Not like that young Elf who once wandered alone through our lands-indeed, I believe my father said that the sojourner was not but an elfling-and pursued by wolves, the young one was!"

             Tawarmaenas was of course eager to hear more.

            "This elfling, what did he look like?"

            "It was dark when my father gazed upon him, but the elfling did have light hair, that much my father could tell."

            "Light hair!  And his eyes?"

             Beorn shook his head.

            "My father said naught of his eyes-only that he was young, with light-hair, and came from the direction of Greenwood, a pack of fell wolves upon his heels!  An excellent runner he was, to stay in front of the pack for so long."

            "Whatever became of him?"

            "He passed through our lands in safety-my father made sure of that-but what became of him after, my father never knew.  He suspected that the young one was making for Lothlórien, but he could not be sure."

            "But you do not know of any harm befalling him."

            "Not in our domain.  My father would not permit it."

            "Oh, I am glad," cried Tawarmaenas fervently.

            Beorn looked at him curiously.

            "This story seems to matter greatly to you."

"Yes, but, your pardon, Master Beorn, I would rather not say why."

Beorn inclined his head gravely.

"Ah, you are one who is able to keep his own counsel; mayhap you are not so young after all, at least not in wisdom!"

"I thank you."

"You are also the master of courtesy.  Come again to my lands, and come often!"

"If circumstances permit it, you may be sure that I will."

With that, they arrived at the house.  Tawarmaenas went inside, but Beorn did not accompany him.

"No, you go in, young Master Elf.  I have some errands need doing.  Sleep well."

Tawarmaenas did sleep well, dreaming of bears, creatures that were not at all fearsome but came proffering gifts of honey and cream.  At one point he awoke to a snuffling and scuffling noise that came from the outside, and he wondered whether his dream had come true-or had turned into a nightmare.  He sat up.

"Go back to sleep," said Gilglîr softly.

"But I am certain that I heard a bear just now.  Shouldn't Beorn be told that one lurks outside?  It may do his servants an injury!"

"Oh, I am sure that Beorn knows about the bear," Gilglîr replied calmly.  "You don't see that great ursine fellow anywhere within this house, do you?"

Great ursine fellow?  The truth dawned upon Tawarmaenas.  Shape-changer.  Of course!  Beorn was a shape-changer, a mighty Man by day, an equally mighty bear by night.  Truly, Gilglîr was right!  Today Tawarmaenas had seen a marvel equal to any that he had hitherto witnessed!


	10. Brothers

_Daw__ the Minstrel_, _Jebb_, and _Karri:_ I'm glad you enjoyed Beorn.  Maybe I can work him in once again when the Elves are on the return journey to Mirkwood.

_Farflung_and _Ninyo__: _In this chapter,Elrohir is going to demonstrate some self-awareness about bullying, although he won't use that term.

_Kitsune__:_ "More Anomen please."  Hmmm.  Would I be correct in guessing that you are trying to remind me of my promise to stay 'Anomen-centric'?  ^_^   I think you will be pleased to see that today's chapter is "All Anomen, all the time."

_Joee__:_ Elrond would win because he would dodge Thranduil's blows, seize his arm, and flip him.  There is too much 'Agent Smith' in him to be drawn into a fist fight.  How's that for an answer?

_Dragonfly: _Here is a veritable 'perfect storm', Orc-wise.

Vocabulary

Celaimîr—'Bright Jewel', daughter of the Head Armorer and sister of Celaithand

Celaithand—'Bright Shield', son of the Head Armorer and brother of Celaimîr

gwador-nîn—'my brother'

Hannon le, gwador-nîn.—'Thank you, my brother.'

Hannon le, mellon-nîn!—'Thank you, my friend!'

ion-nîn—'my son'

            In the end, the festival in Rivendell was enjoyed by all, even those who had been most reluctant to attend, but the real world intruded almost immediately.  The reports of scouts had made it clear that Orcs were skulking in growing numbers on the western borders of Imladris.  Orcs had long hidden within the ravines and crevasses of the Misty Mountains, but now it was plain that their numbers were increasing with the turning of each moon.  The very day after the festival Elrond and Glorfindel sent out the scouts once more and even added to their numbers.

            Less than a week later, a dirty and tired band of Elves straggled through the gates of Rivendell.  They were led by Thoron, who carefully cradled before him the limp figure of one of the younger scouts.  Elrond was hastily summoned, and he hurried out to help carefully lift the injured warrior down from the horse.  It was Celaithand, son of the Head Armorer.

             "Bear him carefully to the House of Healing," ordered the elf-lord.  "Anomen," he added, turning to that Elf, "fetch his father.  Celaithand should have his kin at his side, for his injury is grave."

            Anomen hurried to the armory, but the Head Armorer was not there.  However, his daughter Celaimîr was.

            "Where is your father, Celaimîr?"

            "He has journeyed with some of the apprentices to an outcropping of iron that has lately been discovered to the west.  He will be back within the fortnight."

            A messenger would have to be sent after him, but, still, the Head Armorer would not return for several days.  Anomen hesitated, but then decided that he had to speak.

            "Celaimîr, Thoron's troop has returned."

            "So soon?  They have hardly been gone for a week."  Suddenly the elf-maiden looked frightened.

            "Why have they returned so quickly, Anomen?  Has something happened?"

            "Yes, Celaimîr," said Anomen gently.  "They have had an encounter with Orcs, and all have not returned uninjured."

            Mastering her fear, the elf-maiden gazed at him steadily.

            "You are trying to tell me that Celaithand is hurt, aren't you?"

            "Yes.  Celaithand has been wounded, and, and the injury is a serious one.  He has been carried to the House of Healing, and Elrond sent me to fetch his kin.  I am sorry, Celaimîr," he finished simply.

            Celaimîr nodded, and spoke softly.

            "I will go at once.  Anomen, will you see to the rest of these shields."

            "Of course, Celaimîr."

            Scarcely pausing to put on her cloak, the elf-maiden hastened from the armory.  Anomen picked up the shield she had been polishing and set to work energetically.  He would have polished a score of shields if that could have helped his friend.  He would have to settle for five, but you may be sure that they were going to be the most glorious shields ever borne into battle.

After the return of Thoron's patrol, the festival rapidly became naught but a distant memory to Anomen, Elrohir, and Elladan.  The three young Elves set out the morning after Celaithand had been carried to the House of Healing.  Their destination was the Misty Mountains, where for a fortnight they they carefully climbed up and down uneven slopes in search of their foes.  They found plenty of Orc spoor but had not yet seen one of the creatures.  That was soon going to change.

It was morning, and the three had agreed to separate so that they could sweep through an area of particularly broken terrain.  They hoped thereby to make it more difficult for their quarry to elude them.

"We enter a ravine from one side, and our enemies scuttle out the other end," grumbled a frustrated Elrohir.  For these Elves, this was no mere scouting mission.  They did not wish to simply confirm that Orcs were hiding in the misty Mountains.  This they already knew!  No.  They wished to pick off as many of the creatures as they could.  Thus it was that Elladan and Anomen, both of whom were usually more cautious than Elrohir, agreed that it was indeed time to split up in order to increase their chances of confronting their foes. They decided to meet back at their camp by noon, and then they each went a different direction.

Even beating through the terrain from various vantage points, the Elves were at first frustrated in their attempts to run their enemies to the ground.  Again, plenty of Orc signs, but no actual Orcs.  After several hours, Anomen felt dispirited.  He _knew_ Orcs were about.  Ai!  The trees on these higher slopes were stunted and scraggly.  In the stand where Anomen stood, he could just barely make out their hoarse whispers.  Certainly he was learning nothing of importance from these gnarled and puny trees.  To add insult to injury, from one of the trees a rotten bough gave way and came crashing down.  Anomen leaped aside easily but was still showered with fragments of decaying wood.

"You trees are worse than useless!" he cried.  To his horror, the trees fell completely silent.

"I am sorry," Anomen said contritely.

No good.  The trees remained stubbornly quiet.  But Anomen suddenly realized that the silence not only flowed from the trees.  He heard no bird—not a single chirp or a croak.  He neither heard nor saw any animals—not a snake, not a squirrel.  The hair on the back of his neck prickled.  What was it that Gandalf had said, that Men had a saying, 'Be careful what you wish for'?

"I have wished for Orcs, but I must be careful lest I soon have more on my hands than I can manage!" thought Anomen.  "Mayhap it is time for me to once again join forces with Elladan and Elrohir.  After all," he added to himself sardonically, "They would be furious if I had an adventure without them!"

            Carefully, his nerves taut, he retraced his steps to their camp, where he found Elrohir already waiting.  Like Anomen, Elrohir had seen sign of Orcs but had not encountered any.  Also like Anomen, he was sure that many of their foes were hidden thereabouts.  By unspoken agreement, they did not rekindle the fire, but stood silently, weapons at the ready.  The preternatural silence continued.  At last, they heard a twig snap.  Though the sound may have boded the approach of their enemies, Anomen welcomed it, for he was beginning to find the waiting unendurable.  Anomen took a step toward the sound.

"Anomen!"

Anomen spun about just as Elrohir leaped in front of him.  Anomen heard the sickening thwock of the arrow that struck Elrohir, the arrow that had been meant for him.  Numbly, but with a speed and efficiency born of hours of practice, Anomen drew, nocked, and released an arrow in one fluid motion.  His target was hidden in the brush, but Anomen aimed along the trajectory of the foe's arrow.  He heard a screech and then a panting noise.  He drew his blade and crept into the brush to be sure of his enemy.  He came upon an Orc gasping for breath, Anomen's arrow protruding from his chest.  With one swift blow, Anomen dispatched the creature, and then he hastened back to Elrohir's side.

Elrohir was conscious but very pale.  The arrow had struck him in the side and had surely pierced his lung, for he was having great difficulty breathing and a pinkish froth was upon his lips.  Swiftly, Anomen removed Elrohir's quiver and tried to lay him in as comfortable position as possible.  Taking off his own cloak, he rolled it up and gently slipped it under Elrohir's head.  Then he cut away Elrohir's tunic so that he could examine the injury.

"Elrohir, I do not think I should try to draw forth the arrow.  That had better be left to Elrond.  I can do no more than break off part of the shaft so that it will trouble you a little less."

Elrohir nodded, and Anomen carefully snapped off most of the shaft, leaving enough to give Elrond a hand-hold when it came time for him to remove the arrow.  Then he looked around at his surroundings.  He needed to find better shelter, both to protect Elrohir from the elements and to hide him from Orcs.  The creatures traveled in packs, so others were sure to come this way.  The only question was when.  Anomen rose to his feet.

"Elrohir, I am going to climb up to that stand of trees to see if it would be a good place to move our camp.  I will not be long."

Again Elrohir nodded, but he did not try to speak.

Anomen scrambled up the slope.  Past the trees was a rocky clearing surmounted by a ledge from which water trickled.  A spring.  Good—they would not be cut off from water.  Over the ledge was an overhang.  Also good.  Shelter from the elements, plus no foe would be able to reach them from above.  Altogether, an excellent spot in which to hide.  With the trees screening it, they might not be spotted.  If they were spotted, their foes would have to cross the clearing to reach them.  Moreover, if he and Elladan could indeed contrive to lift Elrohir onto the ledge, that would be another barrier to the Orcs, who would be very vulnerable as they tried to clamber up to reach the injured Elf and his companions.  Anomen climbed back down to Elrohir to await Elladan's return.

It would only be a little while until Elladan reappeared, but under such grievous circumstances, even to an Elf the time would have passed slowly.  Anomen occupied himself with keeping Elrohir warm, covering him with both their blankets, and helping him sip water from time to time.  The injured Elf refused all food.  Speaking at last—much to Anomen's relief!—Elrohir said that he was very thirsty but could not stomach the thought of eating.  His color did improve, however, and, after Anomen had several times wiped the bloody froth from his lips, at last no more of the pinkish spume foamed from his mouth.

Unfortunately, even though Anomen busied himself in caring for Elrohir, he did not have enough to do to keep him from brooding.  He could not stop himself from thinking that he should have been the one injured.  "That arrow was meant for me"—those words were a refrain that resounded in Anomen's mind.  

At long last Elladan slipped quietly from the trees.  He kept his face impassive as his gaze fell upon his injured brother.  Only a flicker in his eyes betrayed his very real concern.  Like his father, Elladan had learned that it is sometimes necessary to suppress one's emotions in order to best help the ones you love.  This was a paradox that a good warrior had to embrace in order to _be_ a good warrior.  Now it was imperative that Elrohir be tended to and gotten to a place of safety.  Swiftly Elladan knelt beside his brother and repeated Anomen's examination.

"You have done well, Anomen," he said finally.  "It is plain to see that you have been raised in the house of a healer!  Have you given any thought to what we should do next?"

"That stand of trees over yonder conceals a ledge and a spring.  It would be a good place for Elrohir and one of us to shelter whilst the other goes for help."

Elladan nodded, and together Anomen and Elladan carefully carried Elrohir up the slope and into the trees.  Once at the ledge, Anomen climbed up.  Then Elladan helped Elrohir to his feet.  The injured Elf gasped with pain but nevertheless stretched his arms up as far as he could.  Lying on his stomach, Anomen reached down and firmly gripped Elrohir's wrists.  Elladan placed his hands on Elrohir's hips and boosted him as Anomen pulled.  Soon Elrohir was lying down upon the ledge.  After assuring himself that Elrohir was comfortable, Anomen slipped off the ledge.  With Elladan, he returned to their previous campsite.  He led Elladan to the body of the Orc.  They dragged the carcass to a cliff and pushed it over the edge.

"Now mayhap the Orcs will begin their search from that point down there," said Elladan hopefully.

Back at the old campsite, Anomen covered the bloody patch in the undergrowth where the Orc had lain, while Elladan did the same for the spot where his brother had fallen.  When they were finished, only an Elf could have perceived by sight alone that blood had been spilled.  Of course, Anomen thought gloomily, the Orcs were more likely to smell out the blood, and, for that particular odor, they were reputed to have noses as sensitive as those possessed by wolves.

Carrying their packs as well as Elrohir's, Anomen and Elladan returned to the ledge to plan their next move. 

"I will set out for Rivendell to bring help," offered Anomen, "so that you may stay with your brother."

Elladan shook his head.  "No, gwador-nîn.  You are the better archer; I am the faster runner.  You stay here and defend Elrohir whilst I hasten for aid."

Anomen hesitated.

"Elladan, are you sure you would not prefer to remain with Elrohir."

"No, Anomen, for I know that I will be leaving him in better hands than mine—I will never be your equal with the blow—or with the knives for that matter!  Elrohir is much more likely to survive if you are the one who stays behind to defend him."

Anomen nodded, grateful for the chance to venture his life for Elrohir as Elrohir had ventured his own for him.

"Very well, Elladan.  I will remain."

Elladan clapped a hand upon Anomen's shoulder.

"Hannon le, gwador-nîn."

"Go well, Elladan."

"Stay well, Anomen."

Elladan knelt by Elrohir, who was dozing, and kissed his forehead.  Then he lowered himself to the ground and swiftly vanished into the trees.

With Elladan gone, Anomen noticed that Elrohir was shivering slightly.  He took Elladan's blanket, and added it to the blanket and the cloak that already covered the injured Elf.  Then Anomen took their water flasks and set about filling them with the spring water that trickled from the rock.  As he finished, he heard Elrohir stirring.  He turned about.  Elrohir's eyes had come into focus.  He went to him and knelt by his side.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Elrohir?"

"Yes.  I am thirsty again—and a little hungry, too."

"Ah, hungry.  That is a good sign!"

Elrohir smiled faintly.

"Anomen, you know that of the three of us, I have always had the heartiest appetite!  It would take more than an Orc arrow to put _me_ off my feed!"

Anomen laughed and went to the pile of packs.  Elladan had left his, so they had at hand food intended to feed three Elves for another fortnight.  He did not think he would need to ration their stores.  No, neither food nor water would be a problem.  If they could evade the notice of Orcs, things might yet turn out well.

After sipping some water and nibbling on a little lembas and a few pieces of fruit, Elrohir asked Anomen to slip one of the packs beneath his head.

"I think I will breathe a trifle easier if I am sitting up a little higher."

Anomen carefully helped Elrohir into a more upright position.  Then, as Elrohir shifted about slightly, trying to get comfortable, Amonen said impulsively, "I am sorry that your brother is not with you, Elrohir."

"One brother is!" replied the injured Elf.

"I mean your _real_ brother."

"Oh, and are you not real, Anomen?  You do not look like a wraith!  I know that you are the master of disguise, but I do not think even you could make a wraith look like an Elf!"

Anomen smiled.

"It is kind of you to say that, Elrohir, but, well, do you truly feel that I am your brother?  I mean, you and Elladan were together for centuries—and twins no less!—before I arrived in Rivendell.  Surely you cannot feel the same way toward him as you do toward me."

Elrohir shrugged a little but then winced.  Still, he managed to speak.

"No, I do not feel the same way toward you as I do toward Elladan, but I also do not feel the same way toward Elladan as I do toward Arwen.  You are all different, and I feel differently toward each and every one of you."

"It is true," Elrohir continued, "that when you first arrived in Imladris I sometimes resented the attention that Ada lavished on you."

"Lavished?"

"I know he didn't truly 'lavish' attention on you, but there were days when I didn't want him to pay any attention to you at all—after all, any time that he spent with  you was time that he couldn't spend with me—at least I thought so at the time."

"And now?"

"I have learned that, somehow, no matter how much affection he spares for you, it does not diminish his affection for me.  Somehow he has enough and to spare!  But at first, well, do you remember the time that Elladan and I stole your clothes when you were bathing?"

Anomen grinned.

"The day the Head Gardener had to dig me out of an old badger hole where I had hidden so that Arwen would not see me naked?  Surely, you don't think I would be likely to forget _that_!"

Both laughed, but then Elrohir grew sober again.

"For Elladan, I think it was just another prank, but I must confess to a little maliciousness on my part.  I am sorry, Anomen!"

"Do not feel sorry, Elrohir.  You had already lost your mother.  I can understand how you would not have wanted anyone taking your father away from you, too.  And you do not feel that way now."

"Oh, no," said Elrohir fervently.  "Then I was jealous; now I would defend you with my life!"

"Well, _that_ you have already made clear," said Anomen sardonically, gesturing at the broken arrow shaft that protruded from Elrohir's chest.

Elrohir grinned.

"You know me—always the one for dramatic gestures!"

Then Elrohir grew serious.

"Anomen, I am wide awake now, and I think I shall remain so for several hours.  You should sleep.  I know you will want to keep watch during the night, but you do not have to do so during the day as well as long as I am able to stand guard—well, 'sit guard', anyway."

"You mean 'recline guard', don't you?" retorted Anomen.  "I will accept your offer, but only if you promise not to shave my hair or paint my face orange whilst I sleep!"

"You have my word, Anomen."

Anomen rolled up in Elladan's cloak—that Elf had taken only his knife—and quickly fell into a deep sleep in the elven fashion, his eyes open but unfocused.  The sun set, but only when the moon arose did Elrohir awaken him.

"It is night," exclaimed Anomen.  "Why did you let me sleep?"

"There was no need to wake you.  I was not weary, and you were.  But now I do feel the need to rest once more."

"Would you like anything to eat or drink before you sleep?"

"A little more water and a few bites of lembas, yes."

Soon Elrohir was sleeping, and Anomen was watching the trees with the greatest of vigilance.  He lay on his stomach peering over the slight lip at the edge of the ledge.  Hours passed.  As dawn neared, Anomen caught a glimpse of something moving at the edge of the trees.  A harmless animal or an Orc?  Several more minutes passed.  It grew lighter, and the figure was joined by a second and a third.  There was no doubt now.  Orcs.  Soon seven Orcs stood under the trees gazing toward the ledge.  Anomen was careful to stay hidden behind the lip, but he thought that it was likely that the Orcs knew that they were there even though they had not yet been spotted.  Yes, they did know.  They had drawn and nocked arrows and, spreading out, they were advancing toward the ledge.  Anomen abandoned all pretence.  He arose so that he could take his own bow in hand although he did not draw an arrow.  The Orcs shouted in horrid exultation.  They saw one Elf, and a trapped one at that.  These were the sort of odds that they relished.  They came on faster.

Anomen waited patiently.  He wanted all the creatures well within arrow shot before he released his first shaft.  He planned to fell all his enemies so they could summon no additional Orcs.  He would then drag off the bodies to decoy any Orcs who might come searching for their fellows.

The Orcs were now loping toward him, their faces o'erspread with hideous smirks that showed their yellowed and broken teeth.  The first had nearly reached the ledge before the last came within range.  Swiftly, Anomen drew an arrow, nocked it, and sent it whirring into the face of the first Orc.  The arrow embedded between his eyes, the Orc instantly fell dead.

Ai!  To Anomen's dismay, that was enough for the other Orcs to turn tail.  Anomen drew, nocked, and released as fast as he could, but two of the scurrying Orcs made it to the shelter of the trees.  Anomen could spy them peeking out from time to time, apparently arguing vehemently.  At last one of them vanished.  Anomen crawled back to Elrohir, who was now awake.

"We have been discovered.  I slew five Orcs, but two survive.  One has just now slipped away—probably to summon others.  The second remains to keep watch and no doubt prevent our escaping."

"Anomen," said Elrohir urgently.  "You can easily elude one Orc.  Get away from here before the other returns with reinforcements."

"And leave you here to hold off a horde of Orcs on your own!  I think not, brother."

"You—you—you're _not_ my brother," cried Elrohir.  "Go away!  I don't want you here!"

Anomen looked at him coolly.

"A valiant effort, gwador-nîn, but you won't get rid of me by pretending to despise me.  Remember that you have already showed your hand!"

Elrohir grimaced ruefully.

"Remind me never to confide my deepest feelings to you the next time we are beseiged by Orcs!  But truly, Anomen, what can you accomplish by staying with me?"

"I can keep you from dying with no one at your side—surely _that_ is worth something."

Elrohir looked at him gratefully but wistfully.

"I would be lying if I said that I do not mind dying alone, but it would be selfish of me to desire such comfort at the expense of your life.  Anomen, please flee whilst you still can!" 

Anomen shook his head.

"And what comfort would I ever find in Arda if I did so?  No, _I_ am being the selfish one, brother.  I _insist_ on dying by your side whether you want me to or not!"

Elrohir groaned.  "Wonderful!  We are true brothers.  To the bitter end we compete with one another!"

"How so?"

"We are each trying to outdo the other at being noble!"

Both Elves laughed, a sound which, had he heard it, would no doubt have greatly puzzled the Orc keeping watch in the trees.  Then Anomen cautiously crawled to the lip of the ledge.  There lay the five Orcs sprawled upon the rocky ground, each with a quiver full of arrows.  Anomen had his own quiver as well as both Elladan's and Elrohir's.  Still, before the end, he might have need of even more arrows than all three elven quivers contained.

"Elrohir," Anomen said, "I am going to slip forward so that I may try to recover my arrows from the bodies of the dead.  I will also scavenge their arrows as well.  They are of a different weight and length, but I am sure I shall be able to make use of them."

            Anomen was able to easily draw the arrows from the bodies of the first two Orcs.  He also scavenged the arrows from their quivers.  He had to cut the arrows from the bodies of the third and fourth Orcs, however.  It disgusted him to have to do this, but he did not want Elrohir to die on account of his squeamishness.  The more arrows the better, no matter how much gore he had to wade through to retrieve them.  

When he reached the fifth body, Anomen knew that he was now well within arrow range of the Orc who remained lurking within the trees.  As he stooped over the body, he listened for the noise of an arrow being released.  At last Anomen heard that distinctive sound, and he evaded the shaft as easily as he had earlier evaded the falling bough.  The arrow flew past him harmlessly and embedded itself in the dirt.  Anomen strode to the misspent shaft and pulled it from the earth.  Then he held it up and waved it at the watching Orc.

"Hannon le, mellon-nîn!" Anomen shouted mockingly.  "Thank you, my friend!"

The frustrated Orc answered with a string of oaths in Black Speech, but the only word that Anomen could make out was 'burzum', darkness.  Anomen shrugged and returned to Elrohir laden with arrows.  He would not run out soon, he thought.

Several hours later the second Orc returned with reinforcements.  Anomen could see numerous squat and leering faces peering out at him from the protection of the trees.  He could not tell their number, only that there were many.  Still, for all their advantage in numbers, the Orcs could only reach the Elves in one way, by a frontal assault that would put them momentarily in the open and vulnerable to Anomen's arrows.  And the behavior of the first band of Orcs showed that the creatures had little stomach for a frontal assault.

Bits and scraps of quarrelsome voices drifted over the clearing.  Anomen only knew a few words of Black Speech, but he could tell that an argument had broken out, no doubt about the best way to get at their quarry.  He made a mental note to ask Gandalf to teach him the language of their foes.  Distasteful as that language was, it would be good to know as much about his enemies as he could.  He remembered having once heard Elrond urging Erestor to teach his pupils Black Speech, but the tutor had demurred.  Anomen, however, was not as squeamish as Erestor.  Before the year was out, he vowed, he would understand the hateful language at least as well as a half-goblin.

After arguing for awhile, the Orcs at last spread out and advanced slightly.  They drew arrows from their quivers, and Anomen realized that they were going to try to shoot into his and Elrohir's refuge.  He was not concerned.  Because the Orcs were below the level of the ledge, they would have to shoot upwards for their arrows to have any chance of landing within the shelter.  But, ironically, there was not enough distance for the arrows to describe a parabola.  Each arrow would strike the roof of the overhang and bounce off it.  In fact, with luck Anomen would come away with a harvest of misspent Orc arrows.

"Pull up your hood," he called to Elrohir.  "It will soon be raining!"

Anomen himself pulled a blanket over his head to deflect the shafts.  He was, of course, correct.  The Orcs released volley after volley of arrows but to no effect.  Each arrow hit the overhang and then fell harmlessly to the floor of the ledge.  Anomen and Elrohir suffered nothing worse than having the occasional shaft bounce off their head coverings.  Anomen did not taunt the Orcs over their failure to injure their intended victims, for he wanted this strange shower to go on for as long as possible.  As long as the Orcs carried on in this fashion, he and Elrohir were safe from harm, _and_ he was amassing an impressive stockpile of arrows.  After awhile, however, the Orcs gave the attempt up as a bad business and retreated to the trees, there to argue some more.

Their next plan the Elves found a little more bothersome.   Anomen saw several tendrils of smoke arising from the stand of trees, and the Orcs reappeared clutching flaming arrows.  Anomen hastily emptied their water flasks onto Elrohir's cloak and his blanket.  The arrows that did fall upon their head coverings failed to set them alight, and as each arrow hit the ledge, Anomen seized it by the fletched end and hurled it away from their refuge.

After futilely expending several more volleys of arrows, the Orcs once more retreated to the trees.  Anomen heard his foes arguing once again, and even more vehemently than before.  At last it became apparent that the Orcs had decided that a frontal assault was unavoidable.  Orcs came out from the trees with swords unsheathed and lined up in a row.  Then those Orcs stepped forward, and a second line of Orcs came out from the trees.  And then a third.  And a fourth.  Anomen began to feel a little sick.  He could see still more evil faces peering out at him from the trees.  He realized that he was going to need every one of those arrows.

One Orc, the leader no doubt, howled out a command, and the lines of Orcs began to lope toward the Elves' refuge.  There were so many of them, that Anomen did not dare to wait until they drew near.  Fortunately, he was such a good shot that, even though he began to fire at them when they were just within range, every arrow flew home.  The Orcs in the first line fell.  Then those in the second line.  The Orcs in the remaining two lines kept on.  Drawingnockingreleasing without pause, Anomen felled the Orcs in the third line, but by then his enemies in the fourth line were nearly to the ledge.  But then, just as it appeared that several Orcs were on the verge of reaching the Elves' sanctuary, the Orcs in the fourth line lost their nerve.  The line wavered and broke.  In their haste to escape, the retreating Orcs lurched into one another, and chaos ensued.  Orcs stumbled and fell, and Anomen picked off as many of the stragglers as he could.  Only a handful made it back to the safety of the trees, and then howls and shrieks of rage resounded throughout the clearing.  The head Orc waved his scimitar threateningly, but he seemed to direct his rage more at his followers than at the Elves.  Anomen watched contentedly as the infuriated leader further 'cut down' the number of survivors of the ill-fated charge.  "Good," he thought.  "Let their chieftain slaughter as many as he will—fewer for me to deal with."

 Unfortunately, even with the inadvertent assistance of the head Orc, there were many foes left lurking in the trees.  Another four lines formed up, and the previous maneuver was repeated, with the same results.  Again the survivors scuttled back under cover, although Anomen noticed that these Orcs were careful to stay at least a sword's breadth away from their enraged chieftain and so took no additional casualties.  Another four lines formed up—Anomen was beginning to wonder at the limitations of Orcish arithmetic—and the same dreary exercise was gone through.  During this latest sortie, the Orcs had no choice but to trample on the bodies of the Orcs who had preceded them.  Not even the span of a footprint was left uncovered by the bodies of dead and dying goblins.

If Anomen had had enough arrows, it is conceivable that he could have gone on indefinitely repulsing Orcs in this fashion.  However, for all the Elf's scavenging, the Orcs were so great in number that he could see his stock of shafts dwindling.  Moreover, the last few sorties, the Orcs had come very close to breaching his defenses.  The last charge, the final line had not broken until Anomen had shot dead an Orc who was hauling himself up onto the ledge.  As Anomen looked out, he could see that a ramp was beginning to form from the bodies of his slain foes, one that was likely to grown until the Orcs had all too easy access to the ledge where he and Elrohir sheltered.  He hesitated a moment and then slipped one of his twin blades out of his quiver and handed it to Elrohir.

"I hope you do not need to use this blade, but if you do, may it serve you well."

Elrohir nodded.  If the Orcs made it to him, better to die by Anomen's blade than at the hands of his foes.

            Anomen counted his final arrows.  Twenty-nine.  Four more lines of Orcs began to charge across the field, and Anomen counted down his last arrows as he felled Orc after Orc.  Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven.  Nock, draw, release, nock, draw, release.  Twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two.  Had every Orc in Middle Earth journeyed to the Misty Mountains?  Nock, draw, release.  Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen.   Nock, draw, release, nock, draw, release, nock, draw, release.

            "Anomen," said Elrohir urgently, "do you want your other knife back?"

            Anomen shook his head.

            "No, Elrohir.  Give me your knife, but keep mine.  It is a better blade than yours—much sharper.  You may need it more than I."

            A sharp blade would inflict less pain and allow the spirit to flee more quickly.

            Thirteen arrows left.  Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five.  Nock draw release, nock draw release, nock draw release.

The line broke.  The Orcs retreated.  One arrow left.

Anomen found that he was gasping.  He staggered to the spring and put his head under the trickle of water.

"Anomen," called Elrohir in concern.  "Are you all right."

"Give me a minute, Elrohir," Anomen panted.  Then he stood upright and squared his shoulders.  He was going to die, but bravely.  There would be none to mark his end, but it would be a courageous one nonetheless.  He smiled grimly at Elrohir and crawled back out to the lip of the ledge to survey the situation, hopeless though it seemed. 

            The Orcs were jeering and taunting.  Dim-witted though they were, they must have realized that Anomen was running short on arrows.

            "One arrow," thought Anomen, "I have one arrow.  How may I best make use of this one arrow?"

            He looked all about, although he scarce knew what he was looking for.  Then he saw the nest, dangling from a tree limb high above the brush where the Orcs lay hidden.  His eyes narrowed.  At least he could try to cause the Orcs some discomfort.  If he were honest, he would have to concede that his target was out of his range, but he had nothing to lose.  If he held on to his arrow, what would it avail against so many Orcs.

Aiming carefully, Anomen shot at the nest.  By the Valar! The young Elf struck his target and brought it down right into the midst of the Orcs.  Howls and shrieks broke out as the Orcs batted at the swarming, furious hornets.

            Thinking quickly, Anomen sprang forward under cover of the confusion to once again scavenge arrow.  By the time his foes were aware of him, he was scrambling back toward the ledge, sixty-nine arrows in his quiver and clutched in his arms.

            In the end, however, even sixty-nine additional arrows could do little against the massed power of Orcs who seemed to spring from the very stones of the Misty Mountains.  Anomen had repulsed two more charges and was again down to his last few arrows.  There was no other hornet nest in sight.  He laid his knife and Elrohir's side by side within easy reach and glanced at Elrohir.  The injured Elf was holding Anomen's blade and testing it against his thumb.

            "You take excellent care of your weapons, Anomen.  This blade is indeed very, very sharp.  It will serve me well, I think."

            Anomen nodded but could say nothing.  He turned his attention back to the trees.  He could see movement, and he knew that their foes were preparing their final charge, the one that would carry them both across the clearing and onto the ledge.

            "Nana," he whispered.  "I shall be with you soon."  No doubt Elrohir was having similar thoughts.

            Apparently the Orcs, once again sure of themselves, were in no hurry to end the siege, preferring instead to draw out their pleasure by jeering at their victims.

            "Somebody light a cooking fire, boys," yelled one, the leader, presumably.  "Elf is back on the menu.  Young Elf, too.  Mmmm.  Should be tender!"

            Coarse laughter greeted this pronouncement.  Then the Orcs began to stomp their feet and beat their bows upon the ground.  Louder and louder the noise grew.  Orcs laughed and howled and hooted and waved their scimitars in the air, demonstrating how they planned to use them to dismember their intended victims.

            With the wisdom of hindsight, no doubt the leader of this band of marauders would have rued this noisy display.  But Orcs lack wisdom, and he was not to be granted hindsight.  The Orc chieftain would never have the opportunity to analyze his mistakes.  Not a single Orc heard the approach of the countless Elven warriors who were slipping up behind them.  Suddenly the exulting howls of the Orcs changed to shrieks and screams of pain.  A wedge of Elves drove through the band of Orcs, and the surprised leader was one of the first to fall, hewed down by the sword of Elrond, who was in the vanguard, outpacing even Glorfindel himself.  Behind these two charged countless warrior, including Elladan, Thoron, Baramagor, and Berenmaethor.  Even Haldir was there.

            Within minutes, not an Orc remained standing.

            Elrond vaulted onto the ledge and knelt beside Elrohir.  He spoke remarkably calmly for a father who had just rescued children on the verge of being slaughtered in the cruelest manner imaginable.

            "Your color is good, my son.  I think, however, that I shall wait until you are back in Rivendell before I draw forth this arrow.  Anomen, ion-nîn, you chose wisely when you decided to leave it be.  Berenmaethor," the elf-lord continued, "will you set some of your scouts to building a litter?"

            "Yes, my Lord," replied the patrol leader.

            "Baramagor," called Elrond.  "By rights these Orcs deserve no more than to be left for carrion-fowl to dine upon, but that would be disrespectful to Arda.  See that the carcasses are burned."

            Baramagor shook his head.

            "I mean no disrespect either to you or to Arda, but I do not think there is enough wood at hand to burn so many Orcs.  Anomen alone has brought down more Orcs than I have ever seen felled in one place!"

            Elrond looked about.  Indeed, Baramagor was right.  Orcs lay sprawled so thickly that his warriors could not take a step without trodding upon layers of them.

            "You have a point, Baramagor.  Still, we will stack the bodies and let fire consume as many as possible.  We shall have to trust to the crows for the rest." 

            Elves scattered in several directions.  Some quickly dispatched the few Orcs still drawing breath.  Others dragged the bodies into the center of the clearing, well away from the trees.  Yet others gathered either deadwood for a pyre or branches with which to fashion a litter.  Those charged with latter task encountered the greatest difficulty, for it was hard to find tree limbs both straight and stout enough to be used to carefully support the body of an injured Elf.  At last, however, the litter was completed, and Elrohir was carefully laid upon it.  The Elves began to pace gently but rapidly toward Rivendell.

            "It will be good to get Elrohir as quickly as possible to the House of Healing," said Elrond.  "For one thing, Celaithand has been chafing at his confinement.  It will do him good to have a companion in misery!"

            "Celaithand!" exclaimed Anomen joyfully.  "He lives!"

            Elrond nodded, smiling back at the young Elf.

            "Yes, Celaithand lives, and he has proved to be no more the patient invalid than you ever were, Anomen!  When he heard tell that a sortie was being mounted to rescue you and Elrohir, he tried to disguise himself in order to take part in it."

            "Disguise himself?  How?"

            "Oh, he thought he would dye his hair.  I wonder how he came up with such an idea?" teased Elrond.  "Unfortunately—or mayhap fortunately!—he did not realize that, whilst it is fairly easy to dye light hair a dark color, it is not so easy to change dark hair to light!  As soon as Celaimîr reported that her brother was missing from his bed in the House of Healing, Glorfindel and Berenmaethor were on the lookout for an Elf with dingy brown hair that was very dark at the roots.  All of the departing warriors had been summoned into the dining hall for instructions and a quick meal, for we did not plan to stop to camp once we had left Rivendell."

Anomen grinned.  He knew what was coming next.  Celaithand had been tripped up by Elrond's 'no hoods at the table' rule—as he himself had often been!

"Of course," continued Elrond, "he had to remove his hood upon entering the dining hall.  In a trice, Berenmaethor had pounced upon him, and he was dragged from the hall protesting that he was fit to ride!  Erestor it was told who him that he was more 'fit to be tied' than 'fit to ride'."

Anomen groaned.  Yes, that sounded like Erestor.

Elladan came up just then.

"Anomen," he exclaimed.  "I have been talking a little with Elrohir.  I marvel that you were able to stay so calm in the face of such reckless hate and overwhelming odds.  However did you manage!?"

"Counting arrows, I guess.  Well, counting down arrows, actually.  In the future I think I shall try counting up," Anomen added cheerfully.  "Yes," he went on.  "I think I shall make it a habit to count the foes that I fell.  Such a mental exercise is a marvelous way to settle the nerves!"

"Are you sure you have any nerves?" teased Elladan.  "Elrohir says he has never seen anyone so cool in the midst of battle."

"Oh, he must have noticed me shivering from fear!"

Elrond shook his head.

"I think I shall journey in Glorfindel's company.  Your relentless good humor will no doubt weary me."

The elf-lord took Anomen's face between his hands and kissed his forehead.

"It seems almost redundant to wish you to 'stay well', my son, as you have already managed that nicely when faced with scores of Orcs who wished you otherwise.  Nevertheless, 'stay well', now and always."

Elladan cleared his throat.

"Don't _I _get a kiss?" he pouted.

"Kill a few Orcs," Elrond teased back.  Then he kissed that son as well.


	11. The Mind And Mirror Of Galadriel

**Kudos to _Joee_ for noticing that I had (again!) mixed up the names of Elrohir and Elladan.****  I have corrected the problem.  _Joee_, some people have 'beta' readers.  I apparently need an 'epsilon' reader to help me keep straight ElrohirElladanErestorElrond.**

**Thank you to the following people who responded either to the last chapter of "Returning from the Dead" or to the separate story "Really Bad Eggs" (or to both!):  _dd9736, Dragonfly, ElfChic, Farflung, Jebb, Joee, Karri, Kitsune, _and **_**Ky**_**.******

**_Farflung_****_: _Hmm, now you mention it, since Galadriel arrives at Rivendell at the end of "Really Bad Eggs," it really would be a shame not to make some use of her presence there.**

**_Joee_****_: _You _still_ want Erestor to explain to Anomen where milk comes from?  Hasn't poor Erestor been through enough!?  ^_***

The elven company set out from Beorn's lodging within a protective cordon of horses that ringed them in all directions.  They only rarely caught sight of their equine escorts, but ever so often they would hear neighs and the thunder of hooves.  Soon afterward the Elves invariably would come upon the trampled bodies of Orcs.  Occasionally a few warg carcasses, likewise trampled, would be scattered amongst the goblins.  Long before the Elves reached Lothlórien, they had developed a deep respect for their hoofed guardians.

So it was that in safety they approached the land of Lórien.  Once they were within sight of that fabled realm, Beorn's horses gathered behind them and began to graze upon the plain.  Apparently they intended to await their return in order to escort them back to the northeast.  The Elves loosed their own horses amongst the herd, trusting that they would be safe, and continued on foot.  As they passed beneath the eaves of the forest of Lothlórien, they heard laughter and singing.  They knew that their progress was being marked but also that they had been recognized as friends and kindred.  They set a leisurely pace for the city of Caras Galadhon, enjoying the beauty of the forest as they walked.  Some of the younger of the company began to sing in response to their hidden hosts, and soon a light-hearted and teasing musical dialogue had begun.

"Why do you trod upon the ground, brothers?" sang a Lórien Elf.  "Are you Men?"

"Why do you perch upon the branches, brothers?" a Greenwood Elf sang back.  "Are you birds?"

The Elves came at last to a river.

"Oh, brothers," chanted one Lothlórien Elves melodiously, "mayhap you are fish?"

"We are Elves, not fish," the Greenwood Elves sang back.  "See you not our pointed ears?"

"Fish fins they must be, so large they are!" giggled one of the Lórien Elves.

Everyone laughed.  A young Elf stepped out from behind a tree.

"Tawarmaenas," he called.  "Mae Govannen!"    

            "You know that Elf?" said Thranduil, surprised.

            "Oh, yes," replied his nephew.  "He was one of the three Lórien Elves who followed Mithrandir past the secret entrance into Dol Guldur, he and his two brothers.  Rúmil," called Tawarmaenas, "you are well, I hope."

            "Oh, yes.  You are well yourself?"

            "Very well, I thank you.  Rúmil, this is my uncle, Thranduil."

            The young Lórien Elf successfully hid his surprise as he politely greeted the monarch.  This smiling Elf was the reputedly dour King of Mirkwood?

"Where are your brothers?" asked Tawarmaenas eagerly.

"Orophin should be back tonight.  He has been on patrol to the south this past fortnight."

"And Haldir?"

            "The Lord and Lady sent him with letters to the Lord of Imladris.  He has been gone several weeks; mayhap he will return before you leave."

            Tawarmaenas was disappointed.  He had been looking forward to seeing Haldir, who, oddly enough, given his all-too-often serious demeanor, was actually the most entertaining of the three brothers.  It was his very earnestness that made him endearing, perhaps.  Certainly, of the three brothers, it was easiest to get a rise out of Haldir by telling the most outrageous tales with a straight face!

            While Tawarmaenas had been renewing his acquaintance with Rúmil, other Elves had appeared on the far side of a river and flung across a rope.  After each end was securely fastened to a tree trunk and the line pulled taut, one of the Lórien Elves tested it by running lightly back and forth across the river.  Convinced of its safety, he invited the Greenwood Elves to cross, and all did so as nimbly as any of the Lothlórien Elves.

            "You are not Men, you are not birds, you are not fish," said one of the Lórien Elves with mock seriousness.  "Mayhap you are squirrels, for you balance as well as any squirrel I have ever seen."

            "As many of our foes have learned to their peril," replied Gilglîr.  "There is no better perch for Orc-hunting than the bough of a tree!"

            "True, true," called back several of the Lothlórien Elves.  "And, now," added one, "we know that you are truly of our kindred!"

"Yes," said Rúmil.  "We acknowledge kinship with all who hunt Orcs!"

"Even Dwarves?" teased Tawarmaenas.

Rúmil looked scandalized.

"Dwarves!?"

"They have been known to hunt Orcs, and you did say that you acknowledge kinship with all who hunt our foes!"

"You know perfectly well that I meant Elves!" huffed Rúmil.  "Of course," he added thoughtfully, "we did combine forces with Men at the battle for Dol Guldur.  I suppose it is conceivable," he mused, "that Dwarves could become our allies—but no!  I simply cannot imagine that happening!"

"I can," declared Tawarmaenas.  "Elves and Dwarves fought side by side once before, at the Battle of the Five Armies."

Thranduil cleared his throat.

"Tawarmaenas," he said gently, "we are guests here.  Mayhap you should leave political discussions for another time."

"Yes, uncle," Tawarmaenas said reluctantly.  He had been thinking much of the Dwarves since his visit to Erebor, and he had lately become convinced that Elves and Dwarves had much in common, however different they might be in appearance.  But, he was learning, such sentiments did not meet with much approval even on the part of the most unprejudiced of Elves—and his uncle was not the most unprejudiced of Elves!

 That night the Lothlórien Elves entertained their Greenwood brethren with fine food and drink, singing and tale telling until only a few dim stars stood guardian against the coming of the dawn.  Orophin had returned during the midst of the festivities and he and his brother and Tawarmaenas immediately vanished, betaking themselves to Haldir's talan.  Even in Haldir's absence this was still the location for his brothers' gatherings, for it was the largest of their flets and located near enough to one of the outdoor kitchens to make forays for food and wine a pleasant rather than a tiresome diversion.  Thranduil had seen his heir absconding with the two Lórien Elves, but he made no move to stop him.  He had marked with pleasure how much Tawarmaenas had enjoyed the company of Bard, and he was equally pleased to see him laughing in the company of Rúmil and Orophin.  "I wish," he thought to himself regretfully, "that I had afforded Legolas such opportunities to enjoy the company of others."

Gilglîr also marked the departure of Tawarmaenas, but his thoughts tended in another direction.  Tawarmaenas had privately told him of Beorn's suspicion that a young Elf his father had once protected had been trying to reach Lothlórien.  Once Gilglîr had realized that Tawarmaenas was a friend of Rúmil and Orophin, he had urged Tawarmaenas to ask them if they had ever seen such an Elf.

"But do so discretely," he cautioned.  "It would not do to set tongues wagging, even Silvan ones."

Gilglîr was also resolved to do a little probing of his own, but he had selected a most formidable target—the Lady Galadriel.  The Lady of Lothlórien was related to Elrond by marriage; moreover, she had the gift of foresight.  Perchance she would have knowledge of Legolas' fate.  If she did——and if Gilglír could persuade her to share her knowledge——it would be good, for then Gilglír would be better prepared for his meeting with Elrond and his sons.  With anticipation, Gilglír watched the rising of the sun, for it was then that the remaining Elves began to drift away from the clearing in which the celebration had been held.  Gilglír fell into step beside Galadriel.  Several paces behind them, Thranduil was safely absorbed in conversation with Celeborn.

"My Lady," Gilglîr began, "during the battle for Dol Guldur, a young Rivendell Elf was wounded in the chest by an Orc arrow whilst coming to the defense of King Thranduil.  I believe that the young one was taken to Lothlórien to recuperate under your care.  Was this not so?"

"Several young Elves were brought to Lothlórien, for, if I remember correctly, the number of casualties at last exceeded the resources available in Mirkwood for their tending."

"This one is called Durrandîr, and he was being fostered by Elrond."

"Ah, yes, Durrandîr."

"I am trying to recall his appearance, my Lady.  Did he have brown hair or golden?"

"As you have said," replied Galadriel gravely, "he was called 'Durrandîr'——'dark wanderer'."

It did not escape Gilglîr's attention that she had not in fact answered his question.

"Is Durrandîr still in Imladris, Lady Galadriel?"

"I do not know."  Strictly speaking, this was an honest answer.  Given the young Elf's propensity for wandering, it was never possible to know to a certainty whether, at any given moment, Anomen was in residence at Rivendell.

Gilglîr tried again.

"I do not recall ever hearing his father's name mentioned.  What was it?"

"I, too," Galadriel replied gravely, "have never heard his name mentioned."

Of course, this answer begged the question of whether Galadriel _knew_ the father's name, but Gilglîr feared to press her too closely.  It would not be wise to offend the Lady of Lothlórien.  He would have to be roundabout as he tried to learn more.

"Strange that no one seems to know the young one's father," he mused.

"In Middle Earth, many things are strange," replied Galadriel.

Another answer that was no answer.  Gilglîr thought that he would soon be in danger of grinding his teeth flat.

The Lady turned toward him and smiled gently.

"You will have to seek elsewhere for the answers to your questions, Gilglîr.  No doubt your curiosity will at length be satisfied."

They had come to the base of the tree in which the Lord and Lady's talan was to be found.  Galadriel bowed gravely in parting, but Gilglîr could see that her eyes sparkled with merriment and that the aura surrounding her seemed to shimmer as if it shook with hidden laughter.  He smiled politely and bowed in return, but he did not share her amusement!  Still, he mused, as he walked toward his own flet, the Lady had said that 'no doubt your curiosity will at length be satisfied'.  Galadriel uttered no word lightly.  Gilglîr therefore still allowed himself to hope.

Tawarmaenas, meanwhile, was to fare no better in his attempts to pry information out of Rúmil and Orophin.  He did not know that those two Elves had been summoned to the talan of the Lord and Lady before the feast had commenced.  The Lady had been remarkably direct——direct for the Lady of Lothlórien, that is.

"I am sure that you have learned that it is by no means necessary to tell all that you know," she had begun.

"Ye-es," replied Rúmil, wondering why he and his brother had been sent for.  "In trade negotiations, for example, it would be folly to tell your counterpart what you are willing to offer."

"Aye," agreed Orophin, "else we would have to pay thrice as much for Dorwinion wine as we do!"

Celeborn frowned, but the Lady smiled.

"Allow them their quips, Lord Celeborn," she said softly.  "They have so little time left for such pleasantries."

Orophin and Rúmil did not dare to think what she meant by that.

"You are good friends with Tawarmaenas, are you not?" she resumed.

"Oh, yes," replied Orophin.  "We did not like him at first, but during the Battle for Dol Guldur and in the days after, we became better acquainted with him.  As we learned more about him, we discovered that we had been mistaken about his character."

"He is a good-hearted and loyal young Elf, well worthy of your friendship," said Galadriel.  "He is also very curious about some matters.  I do not think it would do any harm to satisfy his curiosity were it not that another's curiosity would thereby be satisfied as well."

Rúmil and Orophin took a few minutes to work that one out.

"And you wish, Lady?" Rúmil finally said cautiously.

"I wish you to tell Tawarmaenas nothing about a young Elf who has from time to time visited in Lothlórien, an Elf who hales from Greenwood but who now dwells in Imladris."

"Oh," said Orophin, "you mean——"

"I mean," said Galadriel severely, "a young Elf who has from time to time visited in Lothlórien, an Elf who hales from Greenwood but who now dwells in Imladris."  Then she smiled sweetly.

"As we have agreed, it is by no means necessary to tell all that you know."

"Yes, of course," replied Orophin, chastened.

The Lady of Galadriel inclined her head, dismissing them.

"I wonder what that was about," said Orophin as they descended the steps from the talan.  Why may we not answer questions about Anomen if they are posed by a 'worthy' Elf, as the Lady has called Tawarmaenas?"

"I wouldn't wonder if I were you," warned Rúmil.  "It might not be healthy!"

"Huh," scoffed Orophin.  "You make it sound as if the Lady Galadriel were as dangerous as a wizard!"

"Which she is," said a familiar voice.

Rúmil stumbled, and Orophin would have fallen outright if a hand had not reached out and stayed him.

"Well, well, I never thought to see an Elf in peril of falling out of a tree!"

"Mithrandir!" gasped Orophin, too startled to be embarrassed.

"Very perceptive of you, Orophin.  Yes, I am he."

"What are you doing here?" cried Rúmil.  "We had heard that you were in Rivendell."

"Does the fact that I _was_ in Rivendell make it so surprising that I am _now_ in Lothlórien?  Erestor would have a thing or two to say about your logic."

Rúmil and Orophin had heard all about Erestor.  They could imagine what that Elf would declaim.

"I mean," said Rúmil, "that we did not expect you, Mithrandir.  We had not heard that you were coming."

"As you know," said Gandalf gravely, "I am not in the habit of sending ahead word ahead of my arrival."

"True," agreed Rúmil.  "Ever you come unlooked for.  But welcome nonetheless," he hastily added.

Gandalf laughed at his confusion.

"Are you coming to the feast, Gandalf?" Orophin asked eagerly.

"No, I am afraid not.  I have but lately come from festivities involving young Elves at Rivendell, and it will surely be another century before I can be enticed to attend another such gathering.  The pheromones in the air gave me a headache."

"The _phero_-whats?" asked a bewildered Orophin.

"Never you mind," said Gandalf tartly.  "Now, if you will excuse me, I have some news that I would like to exchange with Galadriel and Celeborn."

Rúmil and Orophin stood for a few minutes watching Gandalf ascend the steps leading to the talan of the Lord and Lady.  The wizard looked like one of the ancient among Men, but he mounted the steps with alacrity nonetheless.  To the watching Elves it suddenly seemed as if the Istar were as graceful as one of the Eldar.  He was certainly as wise and as powerful as any Elf.  With renewed respect for their friend and mentor, Rúmil and Orophin began once again to descend the steps.

Later that evening, after Rúmil, Orophin, and their Greenwood friend had slipped away from the feast, Tawarmaenas did indeed begin to pepper them with questions about Anomen.  He did not ask after him by that name, however.  Instead, he asked about an Elf called Durrandîr, for that is what he had been told to do by Gilglîr.  Rúmil and Orophin were as familiar with that name as with Anomen, for they had heard the Rivendell Elves using it during the siege of Dol Guldur.  But no matter what the name, they were resolved to follow Galadriel's 'instructions' and reveal as little as possible about a certain Elf who haled from Greenwood.

"Yes," said Orophin, "there _was_ an Elf by the name of Durrandîr at the battle.  Wasn't that so, brother?" he said, turning to Rúmil.

"I believe——yes," agreed Rúmil, after thinking about it a while.

"And is he here?"

"Oh, no," Orophin assured Tawarmaenas.  "Durrandîr has never been here."

This statement was at least arguably true.  Anomen had not adopted the name Durrandîr until after leaving Lothlórien.  When he returned to Lórien to recuperate from the injury he suffered during the siege of Dol Guldur, the Elves who tended him had never addressed him as Durrandîr because they had never heard that name.  To them, the young Elf was Anomen.

"Never in Lothlórien!?"

Tawarmaenas looked so crushed that Rúmil could not help but feel bad.

"Of course, Tawarmaenas," he hastened to add, "an Elf could come and go without our being aware of it.  We do not know all that transpires under the eaves of Lothlórien."

This assertion was very true, for Galadriel made sure of that.

Tawarmaenas once again looked hopeful.

"Gilglîr says that Durrandîr was usually seen in the company of Rivendell Elves.  Mayhap he lives in Imladris!"

"Durrandîr fought with the Rivendell Elves," Orophin conceded, "but I do not believe he lives there."

This was just as true as saying that Durrandír had never come to Lothlórien.

Rúmil hastened to agreed.  "You are right, brother.  Durrandír has never set foot in Imladris.  He neither set out from Rivendell; nor did he return there."

"Then where does he live?" cried Tawarmaenas.  "And from whence has he come?"

"No one has ever said where _Durrandîr_ lives," said Orophin carefully.

"Or from whence he came," added Rúmil.

Gilglîr had warned Tawarmaenas that the Lórien Elves might be reluctant——nay, may even have been ordered——to say nothing of their former guest.  Tawarmaenas was growing increasingly frustrated, and he had not yet developed Gilglîr's finesse as a diplomat.  At last Tawarmaenas blurted out, "Has someone told you not to speak of Durrandîr——the Lady perhaps!?"

Orophin looked shocked.

"Tawarmaenas, the Lady Galadriel has never named an Elf that we were not to speak of!"

"No," agreed Rúmil, "and she never would give such a command.  Those are not her methods."

"And she is much too wise to take such a step!" added Orophin.

Tawarmaenas was embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely.  "I should have known that the Lady would never have commanded you to not talk of Durrandîr.  I meant no offense."

"And none was taken," Orophin reassured him.

Humbled by his foolish outburst, Tawarmaenas now dropped the subject entirely, and soon the three friends were laughing and singing as if the conversation had never taken place.

The next evening, Galadriel found Mithrandir waiting for her in her Glade.  The Istar was seated on a mossy berm smoking his pipe and sending assorted animals into the trees.  Only Mithrandir, mused the Lady, would have the temerity to light a pipe in Galadriel's sanctum.  She looked at him fondly.

"Mithrandir, if you would not mind, I believe the smoke affects the clarity of the mirror."

Mithrandir removed the pipe from his mouth.

"Your pardon, my Lady.  I have always found that the clarity of my vision is much improved when I smoke."

Galadriel wondered—and not for the first time!—how the Hobbit pipeweed was prepared and what it contained.   At the very least, it must be made up of something that soothed the nerves, but Galadriel expected that some additional ingredients were at work.  Well, well, as Mithrandir would say, magic takes many forms.

"I have been thinking, Galadriel," that wizard now said, "that it is a shame that Tawarmaenas must go on hoping so futilely."

"I was not aware that hope is futile before it has been altogether frustrated.  If he never finds what he seeks, then and only then will his hope have been futile."

Mithrandir looked at her sardonically.

"I believe that even Erestor could not quibble with the language as well as you do."

"I pray that you are mistaken," smiled Galadriel.

"You do not wish to exceed Erestor's skill?"

"In that area, no.  Now, what is it you wish?"

Mithrandir bowed deeply.

"My Lady, my pardon.  You are in fact capable of speaking with great directness——not like Erestor at all!"

"Mithrandir, I think the Third Age will be over before we conclude our business here."

"Very well, my Lady.  I feel for Tawarmaenas.  Is there nothing you can offer him?  A vision, perhaps?"

"Oh, if it is a vision he wants, you should give him your pipe."

"I didn't mean that sort of vision, Galadriel.  Now stop playing with me."

Well, _someone_ should," teased Galadriel.  "You are _much_ too serious.  Do not Men have a saying, 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy'?"

"Never met an Elf who had that problem," grumbled Mithrandir.  "If you don't _mind_, I have to put up with enough cheekiness from Elrond's brood.  When I come to Lothlórien, I expect a more elevated atmosphere.  If you start in on me, I don't know where I shall go when I need a little peace and quiet."

"The Shire?"

Mithrandir shook his head and grew grave.

"I do not think it will be peaceful there much longer."

Galadriel grew somber as well.

"No," she said softly, "it will not.  Nor will any of the lands of Middle Earth know peace.  But for Tawarmaenas at least we may provide some peace——for a little while.  He shall look into the mirror."

"And what will he see, Lady?"

"You should know better than to ask that," the Lady chided him gently.  

 "I thought, as you were in such an antic mood, you might tell me."

Galadriel shook her head but smiled.

"I would not tell you if I knew——and I do not know."

"As long as you choose not to know."

Now it was Galadriel's turn to look sardonic.

"I am not the only one who sometimes chooses not to know, friend!  Have a care!"

"Well, well," said Mithrandir, arising, "we find ourselves in the same boat."

"As we will in the end."

Mithrandir looked inquiringly at her, but she merely smiled enigmatically as she poured water from a silver flagon into the basin that rested upon the plinth in the center of the glade.

  "Will you bring Tawarmaenas to me, my friend?"

"Of course, my Lady."

A short while later a nervous Tawarmaenas entered the glade in the company of Mithrandir.  The young Elf had heard of the magic of Galadriel's Mirror but had never dreamed that he himself would be called to look upon it.  He paused and looked about in awe.  Galadriel beckoned to him, and he approached the mirror hesitantly.  Galadriel stepped back a pace and gestured that he should look into the mirror.

At first Tawarmaenas saw only his own reflection, but then the image dissolved and reformed.  A horse galloped across the surface of the water.  An Elf sat gracefully upon its back, and this rider looked like an older version of Laiqua.  Suddenly Tawarmaenas realized that the Elf was not the only rider upon the horse.  Sitting behind the Elf and clinging to him was a Dwarf.  He did not look as graceful as the Elf!  Tawarmaenas thought of baby Gimli as he gazed upon this vision, for the Dwarf's hair and beard were of the same color.  Why, he wondered, was Laiqua sharing a horse with a Dwarf?

  The vision began to shimmer.  Once again it dissolved and reformed.  Now Tawarmaenas saw Thranduil's presence chamber in the Great Hall.  But the throne was empty, and Thranduil was nowhere to be seen.  He saw himself, however, or rather an older version of himself.  He was seated upon a chair.  Gilglîr stood behind him and slightly to the right.  Two Elves knelt before Tawarmaenas, and he realized that he was judging a dispute. 

Tawarmaenas stepped back, bewildered.  How was it that he would someday mete out justice in the Great Hall if Laiqua were still alive and the future king of Greenwood?  Galadriel smiled at him.  She knew what he had seen and perceived his confusion.

            "Tell me, Tawarmaenas, where were you seated?  Were you upon the throne?"

            "No, Lady, I was not.  I was seated on a chair a little to the front and to the right of the throne——ah!"

            Now Tawarmaenas understood.  He would never be the King of Greenwood——but he would be its Steward.  Yes, that is what this vision must mean.  Gilglîr would be glad to know that he been right to insist that Tawarmaenas acquire the knowledge and skills necessary for leadership.  However, leadership may take many forms.  Laiqua would not always be in Greenwood——apparently at least some of the time he would be riding about in the company of a Dwarf!——and when he was absent from the realm, he would delegate authority to his cousin.

Galadriel and Mithrandir watched as a very happy Tawarmaenas left the glade to go in search of the Seneschal.  Mithrandir quirked an eyebrow.  Had Tawarmaenas broken into skips just then?  An unusual sight, to see an Elf skipping from Galdriel's glade!

After Tawarmaenas had left the glade, Galadriel beckoned to Gandalf with an urgency that she did not usually display.

"Whilst you were fetching Tawarmaenas, I looked into the Mirror and saw Orcs, many Orcs, in the Misty Mountains, and some whom we love in the midst of them."

"What did you see, Lady?"

"I saw Anomen and Elrohir, and then the scene changed.  When the waters were still once more, I again saw Anomen, but this time with Glorfindel.  Then I saw blood upon the water.  When Tawarmaenas and his escort depart for Imladris, you may wish to accompany them.  The Mirkwood Elves may have need of you as they cross the Misty Mountains.  And Anomen may have need of you as well."

Rarely was Galadriel so forthcoming about what she saw in the mirror.  Gandalf was more alarmed than he had been in a long time.

"When does Gilglîr intend to depart with Tawarmaenas?"

"I will urge him to set out immediately."

"Thank you, my Lady.  You may sure that I will be ready to join them upon the instant."

"You will have to become accustomed to sleeping with your boots on, Mithrandir.  In the days to come I foresee many sudden departures.  The time grows near."

Mithrandir thought of the dark forces that had lately been lurking on the borders of the Shire.  Gravely, he nodded his head.  Yes, the time grew near.


	12. River Rafting

**_Kitsune: _****Here's your update! Uh oh. I see that you also want a sequel to "Got Milk?" **

**_Joee: _****I'm glad you liked "Got Milk?" You may consider that to be 'your story'. I hope you noticed that two of the reviewers thank you for bugging me to write it up! Persistence pays off. By the way, in that story, I confused Elladan and Erestor, but I managed to upload a corrected version before you noticed! **

**_Jebb:_**** Ooh, I like that word 'cryptic'. I've got to work it in somewhere. Poor 'Erector' indeed. I suppose eventually I'll have to write up a story about a young Erestor and all _his _misadventures.**

**_Farflung: _****Here comes the 'blood in the water'. There is also a nekkid Elf in this chapter. By the way, from you I'm going to steal the phrase 'errant heir'. I've used 'errant elfling' but not 'errant heir', and I do like the sound of it. As for Thranduil, yes, his ultimate fate is left unspecified. I prefer to think that he departs for the Undying Lands happy in the knowledge that he leaves behind him a son and heir who is more than ready to rule the realm, with Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas assisting, of course.**

**_dd9736: _****If you are still singing the pirate song, you probably hate me by now!**

**_Daw the Minstrel: _****Yes, all the Elves are good at that game, but Galadriel is the best, I think. Not even Gandalf can be that 'cryptic'. (Yea! I already found an excuse to use that word!)**

**_Dragonfly: _****I think you are allowed to suspect that the company of Greenwood Elves are going to encounter the Orcs who figure in this chapter. After all, there are a lot of them left alive at the end of the chapter.**

**_Karri: _****Um, all the chapters from now on are going to be cliffhangers, I think. Get out while you can!**

**Chapter 12: River Rafting  
**

When Anomen and the injured Elrohir had been brought back safely to Rivendell, troops of Elves rode out again almost immediately. Elladan went forth with Thoron's company, as did Haldir, who refused Elrond's offer of an escort to Lothlórien. Anomen, to his frustration, was not permitted to join them.

"Ada, I am not injured. I do not understand why I may not ride out with the others!"

Elrond replied patiently.

"I have explained this matter to you several times, but I will do so again if that will help you to accept your fate. It is true that your limbs sustained no wounds. It is also true, however, that you were pushed to the utmost limits of your strength, both of body and of mind. Were we under direct siege, you might indeed have to return to the battle without respite, but if rest is possible after such an experience, it should be embraced gladly as a gift from the Valar. You may not be aware of it at first, but if you are forced to slay without the opportunity to heal, your powers will begin to fade."

Elrond was right in surmising that Anomen did not believe that he had suffered much from the encounter with the Orcs. However, in spite of the young Elf's impatience, Elrond would have to be obeyed, for he was both Anomen's Ada and the Lord of Imladris. Even had there had been a trellis within reach——which there was not!——Anomen was well past the age when he would have dreamed of slipping out a window and climbing down to the ground to set out on a foray of his own. He therefore had to console himself with the belief that, even if he did not see the truth of his Ada's words at the moment, he was likely to do so in the future. Elrond was wise and had seen much.

Fortunately, Elrond himself provided Anomen with a task that allowed him both to pass the time and to feel as if he were contributing to the defense of his home. Glorfindel had gone forth, for he was not waiting for patrols to return with news. Instead, he was traveling incessantly, gathering reports from each patrol leader in turn. In his absence, there was no one to conduct weapons training for the elflings, for even the novices had joined the patrols. Elrond was anxious that every elfling spend as much time on the training fields as possible, for he forbode that the time might be drawing near when anyone strong enough to grasp a blade would be called upon to defend Imladris——mayhap Middle Earth itself.

Anomen accepted this task gladly. Moreover, Elrond laid another charge upon him that was greatly to his liking.

"Anomen, Estel will someday wield a sword of great power. Indeed, mayhap he will one day carry into battle the weapon with which Isildur struck down the Dark Lord, for it is foretold that the shards of Narsil will be reforged 'ere the end. That time may be approaching. But whether it be Narsil or some other sword, Estel must develop skills commensurate with the weapon that he will wield when he grows to manhood."

"You wish him to concentrate on sword training?"

"Yes, Anomen, that weapon above all others. Of course, he is not to neglect the bow, mind you! He must undertake the additional training without slighting his other lessons."

"He is young even in the eyes of Men. You do not fear overburdening him?"

"I would fear that only if it were asking him to read an extra book! Truly, Anomen, do you think Estel would ever pass up an opportunity to spend more time on the training fields?"

Anomen laughed. No, he could not imagine Estel complaining at the prospect of more time with the sword even if it meant no less time with the bow.

"No," he said, "he will not object to the extra lessons, although I suspect that he will try to argue that he shouldn't spend as much time in the library with Erestor!"

"I have already thought of that," smiled Elrond. "Starting tomorrow, Estel's lessons with Erestor will conclude one hour early. That is the time that will be devoted to the extra sword practice."

"And you have told Erestor this?"

Elrond made a wry face.

"No, but I must. Tonight you will tell Anomen, and I will speak to Erestor."

"You have given me the easier task," joked Anomen.

Elrond pretended to cuff his ear.

"A little more respect toward your elders, scamp."

Anomen pretended that his dignity was wounded.

"Scamp is it!? I'll remember that the next time you need someone to slay a hundred or so Orcs!"

"Be off with you," laughed Elrond.

That evening Anomen invited Estel to walk with him to the training fields. For a little while they practiced shooting at the targets.

"I will never be as skilled an archer as you," Estel finally said wistfully.

"That may be true," replied Anomen, "but I have seen you practicing your sword-work with Glorfindel. You will be a master swordsman someday."

"You think so?"

"Yes, and that is fortunate, for someday you will bear a great sword, a sword out of the days of legend."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh," replied Anomen with provoking vagueness, "Elrond will explain it to you some day. Meanwhile, he has asked me to devote some time to helping you become the most renowned swordsman amongst Men—mayhap even amongst Elves!"

"Has he?" cried Estel, excited. "But," he said, suddenly downcast, "I don't know when I will have the time."

"Elrond has given some thought to that problem. You will spend one less hour a day with Erestor——that is, if you do not _mind_," Anomen added drolly.

"Mind!? Are you joking!?——oh, yes, you are," Estel finished lamely.

Several days passed in this fashion, until late one evening when Baramagor, dusty and exhausted, came riding through the gates of Rivendell. He had been out patrolling with Berenmaethor's troop along the border between Eregion and Dunland. After taking his horse to the stable, he went straight to Elrond's chamber, where Anomen was discussing Estel's progress with the elf-lord.

"Enter," called Elrond at the sound of Baramagor's knock.

"Your pardon for disturbing you, my Lord, but I have news from the south."

Elrond's face assumed an impassive mask.

"Are all well, Baramagor?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Elrond relaxed almost imperceptibly. He gestured toward the table, where a flask of wine stood as well as a platter of bread, cheese, and fruit.

"Anomen, before Baramagor continues, pour him a glass and fill a plate for him. Baramagor, pray be seated. You have ridden long, have you not?"

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you."

After several sips of wine and a few bites of cheese, Baramagor continued.

"Berenmaethor desired that you be informed that lately a large party of Orcs came out of the south, out of Dunland. We confronted and destroyed them."

"Out of Dunland? They did not come down from the Misty Mountains?"

"No, my Lord. After we dealt with them, we followed their tracks a considerable distance. They had come straight up from the south, traveling boldly through the very center of Dunland, with no attempt at concealment."

"Hmmm. I wonder if they did so with or without the permission of the Dunlendings. Were you able to question any of that folk?

"They fled their villages whenever we drew near. This much I can tell you. Their villages were undamaged. We saw no sign that they had been molested in any way by the Orcs. No barns torched, no cattle slain."

"What does that suggest to you, Anomen?" said Elrond, turning to that Elf.

"That they moved through Dunland with the permission, mayhap even the connivance, of the Dunlendings."

"Aye, I am afraid that that is likely the case."

Elrond sighed and shook his head.

"Berenmaethor did well in sending you with this message. Although the immediate danger has been dealt with by your patrol, Glorfindel must be alerted to the growing threat from the south," said Elrond. "He has but lately set out for the northeast to check on patrols in the Misty Mountains."

Baramagor drew himself erect.

"I will change horses and be on my way."

"No, you have ridden far and are weary. Anomen," Elrond said, turning to that Elf. "Celaithand and Elrohir are both much improved and are beginning to chafe at their confinement in the House of Healing. With Baramagor's assistance, Elrohir may supervise the elflings for a few days, and Celaithand, who at the moment is the stronger of the two, may serve Estel as a partner in his sword training. Thus you shall be free to carry a message to Glorfindel. You do not mind, I hope," Elrond added with a slight smile.

Anomen tried to keep his face straight, but Baramagor was smirking at him, so he gave it up as a lost cause after a few moments.

"I will try to keep my sorrow in check," he assured Elrond with a grin.

"You do that," replied the elf-lord with matching jocularity.

Stopping only to retrieve his weapons and to fill a pack with provisions, Anomen was soon galloping through the gates of Rivendell and heading north on the trail of Glorfindel. It was easy to follow, as Glorfindel was on horseback as well. At first, Anomen was sure that he would be able to catch up quickly.

Glorfindel, however, was moving rapidly in his eagerness to keep apprised of conditions on the borders. Anomen had been riding for three days. He was gaining on the balrog-slayer, he was sure, but the further north he rode, the more uneasy he felt. Ever so often he bade his horse slow or even halt so that he could listen carefully to the trees. "Nad no ennas," he whispered to himself. "Something is out there."

The 'something' showed itself at last. Anomen heard the unmistakable sound of an arrow being released. Instinctively, he ducked, but his horse stumbled, an arrow in its belly. Anomen leaped clear as the horse fell and scrambled for shelter behind the body of his friend. Only one shaft. Only one foe? Watching for movement in the brush, Anomen drew an arrow and nocked it. At last a branch shifted slightly against the breeze. Anomen released his missile and was rewarded with a shriek. He sprang forward, breaking heedlessly past the branches that whipped his face in order to finish his foe. The Orc was not wounded as badly as Anomen hoped, and the creature swung his scimitar at the young Elf. Anomen, however, was able to sidestep the blow, and in short order he had dispatched his enemy. He returned then to his horse. He did not have time to raise a cairn over its body, and he would not have dared to light a funeral pyre. Reluctantly, he scooped up a handful of dirt and gently sprinkled it over his friend in token of the farewell that a steed deserved from grateful rider. Then he sang a few words to honor the spirit of his beloved horse. Sadly he chanted, "Ú-reniathach i amar galen / I reniad lín ne môr, nuithannen."

_No more will you wander the green fields of this earth / Your journey has ended in darkness._

The simple ceremony over, Anomen gave thought to what he should do next. Orcs are like wolves; they travel in packs. Others were certain to be lurking about, but the young Elf had no way of knowing how many. Unhorsed and up against such uncertain odds, Anomen briefly wondered whether he should turn back. No, he decided. Glorfindel was alone as well. Anomen wanted to reach him now more than ever, for the young Elf suspected that, balrog-slayer though he was, Glorfindel would soon be in need of aid. He set off on foot, moving as rapidly as he could through this scrubland at the base of the Misty Mountains. The terrain was now such that no doubt Glorfindel, although mounted, would be able to move little faster than an Elf on foot.

Steadfastly Anomen followed the trail of the balrog-slayer. Several hours passed. Suddenly Anomen stopped, horrified. Tracks had come down a slope and now ran parallel to Glorfindel's. Orc tracks. Glorfindel the hunter had now become the hunted. His mouth dry, his heart racing, Anomen broke into a run, scrambling over the broken terrain with all the speed that he could muster. Several more hours passed. Once again Anomen was brought up short, this time with grief as well as horror.

It was Glorfindel's great stallion, riddled with Orc arrows. Anomen thought briefly of Estel. The boy would be heartbroken to learn of the death of the much-admired steed. Then Anomen dismissed Estel's grief from his mind. He had other matters to attend to nearer at hand. For the second time that day he quickly cast a handful of dirt upon the body of a horse. Then once again he set out as rapidly as possible to locate his friend and mentor. Two trails led from the dead horse into a copse, one a trail of blood, the other the footprints of Orcs. Anomen drew forth both his knives and began to run alongside the tracks. It was not long before he heard the clash of weapons. Anomen was sprinting now. He burst into a clearing. On the other side he saw Glorfindel, his back against a tree, fending off three Orcs. Two others lay dead at his feet.

So quickly did Anomen cross the clearing that the Orcs did not have time to turn and face him. One died instantly with Anomen's knife in his back. As Anomen yanked his weapon from the body of his enemy, the second Orc tried to spin about, but he never completed the maneuver. The third Glorfindel dispatched himself, beheading his startled foe in his trademark fashion.

Their enemies dead, Anomen had a chance to look over the balrog-slayer. To his dismay, he saw an arrow protruding from Glorfindel's thigh. Their horses were dead, and Glorfindel's leg was injured.

"Let me examine that wound, Glorfindel."

The balrog-slayer sat stoically as Anomen carefully drew forth the arrow and bandaged the injury with strips of cloth that he tore from his blanket. As he worked, Anomen realized that Glorfindel's wound was a serious one. The elf-lord would not be able to return to Rivendell on foot.

Glorfindel divined his thoughts.

"You must leave at once for Imladris and bring back help," he said.

"But if any foes happen upon you, you will be unable to defend yourself. The Orcs will search this area once those bodies are discovered."

"I have my bow."

"You will run out of arrows, and then you will be helpless."

"Not entirely helpless. I'll wager that I shall bring down a few of them with my sword."

"But in the end you will be overwhelmed and slain."

"Probably," Glorfindel said calmly.

Anomen shook his head.

"I will not leave you."

"Have you learned nothing!? A needless sacrifice is a foolish one! If you remain with me, and we are discovered, then both of us will run out of arrows and be slain. Return to Rivendell. It may be that you will bring help before I am discovered. If not, then only one of us will have died."

Anomen again shook his head.

"Anomen!" exploded Glorfindel, "of all Elves, you are the most stubborn!"

"Excepting yourself, of course," Anomen replied blandly.

Glorfindel looked at him speechlessly for a moment and then laughed.

"It is no wonder that I was once able to pass you off as my son—we are akin in several ways, you and I."

"You passed me off as your son?"

Glorfindel chuckled. "Aye. It was centuries ago. A Mirkwood messenger had arrived without notice, and he caught sight of you in the distance. 'Who is that golden-haired elfling?' he asked. I was standing nearby and said, "Oh, that's my son."

"What did he say?"

Glorfindel laughed again. "He said, 'Congratulations, my Lord. We had not heard in Greenwood that you had taken a spouse.' I said, 'I have not taken a spouse.' The messenger looked a little confused and said, 'Perhaps I misunderstood. Didn't you say that yonder elfling is your son?' 'Yes,' I replied, 'but I did not say that I had taken a spouse. It does not always follow that one who has sired a son has taken a spouse. Surely you are familiar with the mechanics of the process?'"

Glorfindel had enjoyed reciting this tale, and Anomen had enjoyed hearing it. It pleased him that Glorfindel would claim him as his son, even if only as a ruse.

"How did the messenger react when you told him you'd sired a son but not taken a spouse?"

Glorfindel chuckled some more.

"Oh, he spluttered a bit and excused himself as quickly as he could. The next time I encountered a party of Mirkwood Elves, they all looked me over carefully, so I am sure the tale has spread throughout Thranduil's realm."

"Oh, I _am_ sorry," apologized Anomen. "I never meant to put you in such an awkward spot."

"No need to apologize, Anomen. I do believe that the tale has enhanced my reputation. 'Glorfindel——oh, yes, isn't he the one who slays balrogs and sires elflings? Yes, the very one!'"

Both Elves laughed. Then Aomen sobered himself.

"Glorfindel, it is true that I cannot carry you all the way to Rivendell——"

"Ah, so you've come to your senses. You will leave me here and set out for Imladris."

"I will set out for Imladris, but I will not leave you here. Glorfindel, we are not far from a tributary of the Bruinen. In Mirkwood, trade goods were sent between Lake-town and the Great Hall by raft. I have seen such rafts constructed. If I can support you as far as the river, I could build such a raft, and together we could float down to the valley of Rivendell."

Glorfindel looked thoughtful.

"We will have to get through rapids in several places, and a raft is difficult to steer."

"True, but even though you cannot walk, your arms are uninjured. You can help me manage the raft."

Glorfindel nodded.

"Anomen, I think this plan might very well work. And even if the rapids eventually prove impassable and we must abandon the raft, at least by then we will be closer to Rivendell and further from pursuit. I could remain by the river, in easy reach of water, and you could hasten on and bring back help. Yes, I think my chances would be much higher if I were waiting by the river, miles downstream from here, than if I remained in the vicinity of a skirmish."

"So we are agreed?"

"Yes——and once again we prove to have something in common."

"Oh, and what?"

"You are clever and resourceful——obviously you take after me."

Anomen snorted.

"If you're so clever and resourceful, why didn't you think of this plan first!?"

"Didn't want to preempt you, ion-nîn. Wouldn't want to put a damper on your creative spirit by rushing in first to solve all your problems!"

"_My_ problems! _You_ are the one with the arrow wound in the leg."

"Correct——which makes me _your_ problem."

Bemused, Anomen shook his head.

"Tell me, Glorfindel, does it always take an arrow to your body to put you into so jovial a mood? Is there no other less radical way to transform you into such a witty Elf?"

"My arrow in an Elven body——that generally works nicely."

"Glorfindel!"

"Don't worry; I wasn't referring to _your_ body——my interests tend in another direction."

"Glorfindel, are you _sure_ you haven't sired any golden-haired elflings?"

"If I have, no one has told me about it, but it's not likely. One nice thing about being familiar with the 'mechanics of the process' is that one can protect oneself from the embarrassment of contributing unplanned additions to the population of Middle-earth."

"Um, Glorfindel, I'm not sure I should be hearing you say things like that."

"On the contrary, given your age, these are just the sort of things that you _should_ be hearing me say. However, this is probably not the best time or place for me to instruct you. Let us make for the river."

Slinging Glorfindel's pack as well as his own over one shoulder, Anomen helped Glorfindel to his feet. Leaning upon the young Elf's other shoulder, Glorfindel hobbled as best he could. His respect for his companion, already great, grew by the minute as the young one struggled to assist him to the river. With his leg injured, and weak from loss of blood, Glorfindel could do little to support his own weight and had no choice but to lean heavily upon Anomen. The balrog-slayer was sure that it was all his young friend could do to keep his feet on the uneven terrain, but Anomen showed no sign of tiring.

At last the two made it to the river bank. Anomen helped ease Glorfindel to the ground, and then, without sparing a moment to rest, he set about making the raft. He gathered together the thickest pieces of driftwood that he could find and lashed them together with vines. When he was done, he tossed extra vines upon the rough surface in case repairs should become necessary. Then he spread his and Glorfindel's blanket in the middle and helped the elf-lord onto the raft. The balrog-slayer looked about at their improvised vessel.

"I think Cîrdan would be horrified if he saw this."

"The next time I shall build a vessel to rival the Shipwright's own," Anomen promised. "It will be much more elegant. For now, we only need something that will float!"

"Good! For I am sure that if Cîrdan and his brethren ever spotted you upon a contraption such as this, you would have to forfeit your place in the Undying Lands!"

Using one of the two long poles that he had set aside, Anomen pushed the raft from the shore and they began to drift down the river, slowly at first but more quickly as they entered the current. Just as they reached the center of the channel, they heard shrieks and howls. Looking back at the shore, they saw Orcs swarming out of the trees. The fell creatures released a volley of arrows, but the shafts landed in the river well short of their target. The two Elves sat in silence as their enemies receded into the distance. At last Glorfindel spoke.

"Had I not listened to you, we would both be dead by now, I think."

Anomen could not answer. Suddenly he felt very weary. Elrond was right, he thought. One cannot perpetually face death without it taking a toll on the spirit. Glorfindel looked at him with concern.

"How do you fare, ion-nîn."

"I am a little tired, Glorfindel."

"It will be some time before we reach the rapids. Rest. I will keep watch."

Anomen gratefully wrapped himself in his cloak and allowed his eyes to glaze over. Glorfindel sat thoughtfully watching him sleep.

"You deserve better than this, my young friend. Would that you dwelled in another time, one not shadowed by darkness. But that was a choice not permitted you. All that is permitted you is to use well the time that has been given you. You have done so thus far and will continue to do so, I deem. The peoples of Middle Earth will have cause to thank you before the end, I think."

Anomen slept for hours. The sun had descended and the moon had arisen before he awoke. He sat up and looked about, puzzled for a minute. Then he remembered: he was floating down a river on a raft. Had any Elf ever done so, he wondered?

"You should have somewhat to eat and drink, Anomen," said Glorfindel, interrupting his thoughts.

Anomen nodded and opened his pack. He chewed on a slice of dried fruit.

"I have some miruvor," said Glorfindel, proffering a small flask.

Anomen shook his head.

"You are injured. Save it for yourself."

"There are many kinds of injuries," said Glorfindel serenely. "Drink."

Anomen accepted the flask and took a small sip. He felt his spirits rekindled. He nodded at Glorfindel.

"Thank you."

"Oh, I am only looking out for myself," teased Glorfindel. "A warrior knows that his health and safety depends upon the health and safety of his companions. So I am going to take very good care of you to preserve my _own_ skin!"

Anomen chuckled. Indeed, Glorfindel's words cheered him even more than the miruvor had. There was still laughter and joy in Arda, and it would take more than a few Orcs to destroy it. Of that he could be certain.

Glorfindel looked ahead.

"It is good that you awoke, else I would have had to rouse you. Yonder are rapids. You must use one pole to fend off the rocks, and I will help you as best I can with the other."

Anomen stationed himself on one side of the raft, and Glorfindel inched over to the opposite side. Poles at the ready, they watched alertly as the current picked up speed. Soon their makeshift vessel was hurtling past huge boulders. They passed the first few in safety, but suddenly an enormous, jagged rock loomed up on Glorfindel's side. The balrog-slayer braced himself as best he could and used his pole to muscle the raft to the side of the obstacle. As he did so, he grunted in pain, and Anomen anxiously looked over at him.

"Never mind me," declared the balrog-slayer. "Look to the raft!"

The raft bucked and slewed through the white-water, and sometimes it tilted so alarmingly that Anomen was sure that they would be flung into the water. Again and again Anomen and Glorfindel were forced to use the poles to push the raft away from the threatening boulders.

At length they had run the first rapid. The river widened, and the water slowed. Anomen looked over at Glorfindel and realized that his wound had reopened.

"Glorfindel, you are bleeding. Let me change the bandages."

Anomen ripped off more strips from the bottom of his blanket and used them to rebind Glorfindel's injury. After he had done so, he rinsed off the old blood-soaked bandages. Once they had dried, they could be reused. The water behind the raft turned red with Glorfindel's blood.

"If this were the ocean," said Glorfindel, "we would have to fear the water-wolves."

"Water-wolves?"

"Aye. It is said that they sense blood in the water with an acuity equal to that with which wolves pick up that scent upon the wind. It is also said that they track their prey with the same determination and fell intent."

Anomen shuddered. He was glad that they would not be tracked by water-wolves. It was bad enough that they might be subject to attack by Orcs if they drifted too close to the shore.

Three more times that day they ran rapids. At last they came into a clear stretch that Glorfindel knew extended for many miles.

"That is the last of those rapids," said Glorfindel with relief. "It will be clear sailing for awhile."

Of course, Reader, you know as well as I that Glorfindel should never have spoken so confidently. For as soon as he had done so the raft fetched up against some hidden obstruction. Elves are very graceful and agile, of course, and have an excellent sense of balance, but even an Elf can be knocked off his feet if he is caught by surprise and the blow is heavy enough. So it was that Anomen one minute was standing erect and holding a pole, the next was in the water, spluttering, the pole drifting away. Glorfindel flung himself toward that side of the raft and extended his own pole. Anomen seized upon it, and Glorfindel drew him back to the raft. Shivering a little, Anomen climbed back onto the little vessel.

"The raft must have snagged upon something," said Anomen. "I shall have to swim underneath to determine how best to free ourselves."

"Very well, but tie one of these vines around your waist, so that I may draw you back to the raft if you get into trouble."

Anomen agreed. After tying a vine around his waist and handing the end to Glorfindel, he lowered himself into the water and vanished from view. Soon he reappeared, clinging to the edge of the raft.

"I shall have to hack at a tree limb that has gotten wedged between two of our makeshift planks."

Glorfindel handed him one of his knives, and he dove beneath the raft once again. It was hard work. He dove and resurfaced repeatedly until the job was done. Suddenly the raft lurched forward. Alarmed, Glorfindel yanked on the vine, and Anomen rose to the surface. Shivering violently now, Anomen clambered back onto the raft. Glorfindel looked upon him with concern.

"Even an Elf cannot survive such cold, Anomen. Strip off your wet things and shelter with me under this blanket."

That suggestion hardly seemed dignified, but Anomen did not think that this was the time to stand on formality. He had never felt so cold, not even after he had fled from the Dunlending village with no cloak and no means of making a fire. So frozen was he that he was incapable of speaking, so he merely nodded his agreement. With stiff and trembling fingers, he clumsily stripped off his clothes and gratefully crawled under the blanket, there to huddle against Glorfindel. For his part, the balrog-slayer vigorously rubbed the young Elf's hands, arms, and shoulders, and gradually Anomen stopped shaking. Glorfindel ventured a joke.

"If anyone should happen upon us now, I would certainly want to pass you off as my son, else how would I ever explain your presence under this blanket in your current state of undress!"

"Oh, I don't know, Glorfindel. Wouldn't you want to further enhance your reputation. I can hear the other Elves now. 'Glorfindel——oh, yes, isn't he the one who slays balrogs and sires elflings and beds all comers, male and female alike? Yes, the very one!'"

Glorfindel jabbed Anomen in the groin——not too low, fortunately.

"I think you have recovered sufficiently from your dip in icy water. We are coming into another patch of rough water. You'd best wrap yourself in my cloak and wield the remaining pole. I am afraid I can do little other than cheer you on."

Anomen smiled and took up his position with the pole.

"Encouragement is a great aid, I assure you."

A day later the Head Cook and his daughter Lendsiniath were on the outskirts of Imladris wading in the shallows of the river in search of shellfish. Lendsiniath's skirt was hitched up above her knees so that it would stay dry. Suddenly the elf-maiden straightened herself and looked intently upstream.

"Ada, something large is floating down the river."

At about the same time, Glorfindel noticed the two foraging Elves.

"Anomen," he said. "Are your clothes dry?"

"They are still a little wet, Glorfindel."

"Pity. Well, I suppose it is better to be seen naked by an elf-maiden than to pull on a clammy tunic and leggings."

"What!"

Glorfindel nodded downriver.

"Yonder are the Head Cook and his daughter Lendsiniath."

Anomen dressed with amazing alacrity, even though he winced as he pulled up his damp leggings around his middle. Pity, thought Glorfindel. Lendsiniath's face would have been something to see had Anomen arrived in his natal garment. On the other hand, the Cook probably would have tried to skin the lad if that had been the only thing he had been dressed in.

Anomen poled the raft toward the shore. The Cook waded out and helped draw it onto a sandy spit. He saw at once that Glorfindel was wounded.

"Lendsiniath," he said, "run to the Hall as quickly as you can. Tell them that Anomen and Glorfindel have been unhorsed and that Glorfindel's leg is injured."

Lendsiniath hitched up her skirt even higher——the Cook scowled at Anomen when the young Elf could not help but gaze upon her legs——and she set out at a dead run for the Hall. The Cook then built a fire and tossed some freshwater clams upon it. Before too long Anomen and Glorfindel were feasting upon the succulent meat straight from the shell.

"Master Cook," declared Glorfindel, "you are a veritable magician——nay, a wizard!——for even without your pots and your ladles, your spices and seasonings, you prepare a most delectable feast."

The Cook beamed but tried to reply with humility.

"It is said, is it not, that 'hunger is the best sauce'?"

"But your sauces are second only to that one, I assure you," said Glorfindel gravely, hiding his amusement.

"Thank you, my Lord. I do try my best, and I like to flatter myself that over the centuries I have developed some skill in the kitchen."

At length the Elves heard the drumbeat of galloping horses, and Elrond, Elrohir, Baramagor, and Celaithand rode into view leading a string of riderless horses. The three were dismounting whilst the horses were still in motion.

"Glorfindel!" exclaimed Elrond. "In all my centuries, I have never heard of an Elf rafting down the Bruinen!"

"We have much to learn from our Mirkwood brethren," said Glorfindel lightly. "'Twas Anomen who suggested that we adopt this peculiar mode of transportation. And, as no Orc has ever been known to swim, it proved well for us."

Elrond looked appreciatively at Anomen. He reached over and drew him into an embrace. It was then that he realized that the young Elf was wet and cold.

"Anomen, you are soaked! Baramagor, take him to the House of Healing at once. See that he bathes in warm water and is put to bed straightaway. And that he stays there!" he added.

Anomen opened his mouth to protest, but then he remembered how grateful he had been when Glorfindel had given him the opportunity to rest on the raft. He nodded.

"Yes, Ada," he said meekly.

Elrond looked at him a little suspiciously. Meekness was not a tone Anomen often adopted nowadays. But Anomen was already mounting one of the spare horses and turning its head toward Rivendell.

"Well," thought Elrond wryly, "first Elves raft the Bruinen, and then Anomen obeys without question. Surely we live in an age of miracles and wonders."

With that, the elf-lord turned his attention to helping his friend the balrog-slayer to a horse. Glorfindel, however, would not stir until Elrond had agreed to send Celaithand and Elrohir out at once to warn Thoron about the band of Orcs that he and Anomen had run afoul of. Only when he saw them mounted and galloping north would he consent to take horse himself for the final stage of his journey to Rivendell.

As they rode back to the Hall, Glorfindel recounted how Anomen had rescued him from the Orcs and then refused to leave him.

"I think only Anomen would have thought of making a raft," said Elrond thoughtfully. "More and more I come to believe," he mused, "that there is a reason why Anomen was sent by the Valar to Rivendell. Surely he has been preparing to play an important part in some events whose nature is yet hidden from me."

"Pardon me," laughed Glorfindel, "but from my point of view he has already played an important part in events——I happen to value my skin!"

"True, true," agreed Elrond with a smile. "But," he added softly, "the story is not yet at an end."


	13. A Bush With Teeth

_Lyn:_ Yes, I see what you mean about the interjection of "reader."  It doesn't work there.  I will remove it when I upload a corrected version of the chapter.  I think, though, I will leave in the acknowledgement of the death of the horses because the horses are very dear to the Elves, and even if it is not the most rational of things to do, I think Anomen possibly would take just a few moments—and it was just a few moments, really—to say goodbye.  Now as to the raft, I confess that, even though I live near a river that has some rough patches, I have never gone rafting.  I do have Anomen tossing extra vines on to the raft to make any repairs that might become necessary.  Do you think the sequence would work if I had him once or twice actually using the vines to resecure the driftwood planks?

_Farflung__: _Um, if I can't kill horses, do you want me to go back to killing Elves?  Just joking!  Just joking!  ^_^

_Joee__: _Two errors involving Anomen's name!  Aaargh!  ^_^ About the formatting.  It's not deliberate.  When I save each chapter, the paragraphs are consistently indented.  Somehow, when I upload the chapters, the indenting gets dropped in some places, preserved in others.  I can't figure out how to solve the problem although, believe me, I've tried!  Anybody have any ideas?

_Melissa: _Thank you.  I think you'll find Anomen resourceful in this chapter, too.  At least I hope so!

_Jebb__: _Um, was it my imagination or were you were about to suggest that Elrond put in an appearance _sans_ robe?  I don't think I can wrap my mind around that concept (although, actually, he _did_ go swimming once after the rescue of Anomen and the twins from Orcs, and I have never provided bathing suits for any of my Elves).

_Karri: _The relationship between Glorfindel and Anomen has really blossomed.  Do you remember how the balrog-slayer used to terrify the elfling Anomen?

_Dragonfly: _I am going to make a little more use of Glorfindel as Anomen's putative father in a future chapter.

Vocabulary

Antadar—'Gift Father'

Heard—'Fierce' or 'Strong' (Old English; pronounced Hey-ard)

Hordwynn—'Pleasure Hoard' (Old English; pronounced Hoard-win)

Hyge—'Heart' or 'Courage' (Old English; pronounced Hew-guh)

The day after her conversation with Mithrandir, Galadriel urged Gilglîr to set out at once for Imladris.

"If you wish to journey on to Rivendell, then you should not delay.  The passage over the mountains will grow increasingly perilous over the months to come."

"The weather is mild, my Lady, and promises to continue so for the near future.  Surely we are not likely to meet with any obstacles."

"It is not the weather of which I speak, Gilglîr.  The Orcs grow both more numerous and bolder.  You are likely to encounter not only the usual timorous night-crawlers who shun the sunlight but also a new breed, fierce creatures as likely to attack during the day as during the night.  At no time will you be safe, and you will be less so the longer you linger in Lothlórien."

Thranduil was unhappy to be parted from Tawarmaenas on such short notice, but he had given his word to Gilglîr to follow his advice in this matter.  On the morrow, he would set out for Greenwood with a small escort, for it was decided that he would trust to Beorn's horses to safeguard his passage across the plain.  The greater part of the Greenwood warriors would accompany Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas.

They would also be accompanied by Rúmil and Orophin.  Those two Elves had been greatly disappointed when told that their friend Tawarmaenas would be departing after spending such a short time in their land.  They had gone to the Lord and Lady to beg leave to journey to Imladris as well.

"Our brother Haldir has been long in Imladris," Rúmil pointed out.  "He may wish to return to our land, but now it would not be wise for him to do so on his own.  If Orophin and I were to travel to Rivendell, we would be able to serve as escorts for his homecoming journey."

His reasoning was faulty, of course.  Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas would be passing through Lothlórien on their return journey, and Haldir could just as easily, and perhaps with greater safety, ride in their company.  Galadriel and Celeborn, however, forbore pointing out this fact and graciously granted the brothers' request.  It may have been in their minds that the more warriors who rode with Tawarmaenas, the better.  Diplomacy forbade them from suggesting that the Greenwood Elves needed the aid of the Lothlórien ones, but those two at least could join the Greenwood company under the guise of reuniting with their brother.

While these decisions were being reached in Lothlórien, other, equally important plans were being drawn up in Rivendell.  In view of the several recent, and nearly fatal, encounters with Orcs, Elrond had convened a council of warriors to discuss matters and decide upon a course of action.

Among the Elves called to this council was Thoron.  Hitherto, he had only been an onlooker at such councils, but today he found the courage to speak his mind before his elders.  For a leader, bravery before an assembly is no less necessary than valor in battle, and Elrond smiled encouragingly at the young Elf when he respectfully asked leave to speak.

"My Lord, long have we patrolled our borders, repelling each Orc incursion as best we can.  We rarely know when or where the next blow will fall, and we cannot be everywhere at once.  Thus far our vigilance has sufficed, but will it not be only a matter of time before the Orcs happen upon an unprotected stretch of border?  Stretched thin as they are, our defenses are liable to be breached at any time, all the more so as our foes seem to be growing in number.  If Orcs do get past our patrols and come upon unarmed Elves going about their daily business, the harm they could do would be incalculable.

Elrond nodded.

"You speak wisely, Thoron. What do you recommend?"

"I think that henceforth we must do more than react to their depredations," declared Thoron. "If we wish to truly be secure within our borders, we must pursue the Orcs.  We must track them to their nests, which they have hitherto deemed their strongholds.  Deprive them of their hiding places!  Wipe them out in those crevasses in which they take shelter!"

Thoron colored a little when he realized how passionate he had spoken these latter words, but Elrond inclined his head respectfully toward him.  Then he looked at Glorfindel.  The balrog-slayer nodded.

"I think Thoron is right.  We must do more than patrol.  We must go on the offensive and leave our foes with no places of retreat anywhere within the Misty Mountains.  I only wish," he said restlessly, "that I could ride out myself.  Would that I were not injured!"

"Do not fret," said Elrond grimly.  "I am sure that there will be plenty of other occasions for you to wield your sword."

The Lord of Imladris looked about at the assembled warriors.

"Berenmaethor, we cannot leave the south unguarded.  You will resume patrolling the border between Eregion and Dunland.  As always, Baramagor will serve as your lieutenant.  Anomen and Celaithand will join you as well."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Thoron," continued Elrond, "the Misty Mountains have been your charge and shall continue to be so.  The leadership of this sortie shall be in your hands.  Elladan and Elrohir will serve as your lieutenants."

"Thank you, my Lord."

Elrond turned to their Lothloríen guest.

"Haldir, you are well acquainted with the Misty Mountains, for you have traversed them several times.  May I prevail upon you to lend your knowledge and skill to this campaign?

"I would be honored, my Lord."

A knock was heard upon the door.

"Enter," called Elrond.

Erestor stepped into the room.  A sword was girt at his side.  Elrond's eyebrows shot up well nigh to his hairline.

"Erestor, mellon-nîn.  You bear a most unusual ornament this day."

"This is no ornament," growled Erestor.  "You haven't ordered an airing of the library in centuries.  I insist that you do so.  As I cannot stand the dirt that will be flying about as that chamber receives a proper cleaning, I mean to ride with Anomen until the dust has settled.  Besides," added the tutor, "Someone has to go along and keep that scamp in order."

"And what of Estel?" asked Elrond.  "What shall he do in your absence?"

"Oh," said Erestor airily, "as Glorfindel shall have nothing else to do, he may mind Estel."

Glorfindel glowered at Erestor, who gave him a cheekier smile than he had been seen to flash in centuries.  Elrond kept his face studiedly neutral, although it took more than the usual effort.

"Glorfindel, this may be a good opportunity to increase yet again the intensity of Estel's training in both bow and sword.  Moreover, you are bereft of your horse and will need to bond with and train another.  It would be good for Estel to observe and perhaps assist you in that endeavor."

"Very well, Elrond," replied Glorfindel, his irritation subsiding at the prospect of an honorable task.

Elrond arose, signaling that the conclave was at an end.  Tomorrow the warriors would depart on their respective missions.

A fortnight later, Berenmaethor's troop was patrolling deep within the territory of the Dunlendings.  As those folk had given the Orcs the freedom of their land, the Elves did not feel obligated to halt at the border of Eregion.  To keep Eregion secure, Dunland now had to be kept free of Orcs.  Ai! Is proving to be difficult to locate and root out those fell creatures.  The Elves saw plentiful signs of the presence of the Orcs, but they did not venture out in daylight, and the Elves could never succeed in tracking them to their lairs.  The Orcs had gone to ground quite literally.  Again and again the Elves tracked their foes to the edge of a rock field, but they were unable to follow them further, for they left no traces upon the rock.

Berenmaethor signed and shook his head as he gazed upon the rock field.  In that layered basalt no vegetation grew that would betray the passage of a heavily shod foot.

"Time was the ground here convulsed, and the mountains vomited forth liquid rock that glowed red as it oozed down the slope and buried this plain, incinerating all that stood in its path.  'Twas eons ago, when even Elrond was young.  We make use of pumice and obsidian, which are also cast forth by volcanos, but this basalt deprived the Men of this region of fertile lands that were once good for grazing and farming.  Since then, they have cast their eyes covetously upon Eregion.  No doubt it seems unfair to them that the elven lands were untouched by the cataclysm."

As they patrolled, the Elves did not trouble the luckless Dunlendings in any way, and after the first week those folk stopped fleeing their villages at the approach of the elven warriors.  A few children even ventured to draw near and stare at the Fair Folk, although they scampered away whenever an Elf glanced in their direction.  Anomen was sorry that they were so skittish.  They were poor, ragged creatures, these urchins, and he pitied them.

One day Anomen's patrol had halted near a particularly dilapidated hut to break fast.  Anomen was just about to bite into a piece of fruit when out of the corner of his eye he spotted bare, dirty feet at the base of a bush.  Carefully trying to disguise the fact that he was looking, his eyes traced the feet to skinny legs encased in ragged trousers, and then the legs to a scrawny ribcage, the ribcage to a thin neck, the neck to a grimy face topped by a thatch of unruly hair.

"Even Estel is not as grubby as this one!" Anomen thought to himself.  He carelessly placed the fruit upon a rock and walked away to check on his horse.  When he returned, the fruit was gone, and he heard a crunching sound coming from the direction of the bush.

That evening, Anomen once more halted his patrol near the ramshackle shelter and again placed a piece of fruit upon the rock near the bush.  He turned his back to address Celaithand.

"I hope you know that your apple has just levitated," said Celaithand cheerfully.

The two Elves heard an unmistakable crunching sound.

"That bush has teeth," observed Anomen's friend.

"Yes," agreed Anomen.  "And the teeth are in a mouth.  Mayhap if I feed the mouth, it will speak."

"It will take more fruit than you have in _your_ pack, I am sure," declared Celaithand laughingly.

"No doubt you are right, mellon-nîn.  How much fruit are _you_ carrying?"

Celaithand made a wry face but emptied his pack of fruit.  Three days later the bush spoke.

"You are much nicer than those other ones.  And you are not as ugly, even if your ears _are_ pointy."

"Those other ones do not give you fruit?" said Anomen mildly, looking anywhere but at the bush.

"They don't give me anything!  And it's no good stealing or scavenging their food, either.  All they carry is bread and strips of meat.  Their bread is either hard or moldy, and the meat stinks and crawls with maggots."

"I wonder how they survive on such ill fair."

"My Da wonders, too.  He says lately they have been eying our cattle.  They swore that they would not take any of them, but my Da says that our chieftains are making a mistake, that in the end the nasty creatures will reive our livestock—and much more besides!"

"Your father is a wise man."

"_I_ think so!  He should be chief!  _He_ wouldn't have shown the nasty creatures our caves!"

"Ah, yes, the caves."

"Aye.  My Da says that we have ne'er let strangers shelter in our caves.  Their secret was preserved lest we have nowhere to flee.  But now the nasty creatures know where they are!  My Da says someday the nasties will turn on us, and when we flee they will know to follow us to our hiding places.  We will be trapped and slain every last one of us!"

"It would be good if the nasty creatures were slain instead.  If they were to die, their knowledge would die with them."

"Aye," whimpered the child, "but we lack the strength to slay 'em.  My Da says 'twas fear made the chieftains give them leave to enter our land in the first place, for if we had said 'nay', they would have slaughtered us anyway."

"Not all folk lack the strength to slay such cruel creatures."

"Aye, I know.  Elvish wights such as ye be could kill'em."

"Aye, if we knew where they were hidden, we could."

The bush fell silent.  It stayed so for so long that Anomen feared that the urchin had slipped away.

 "Do you have any more fruit?" the bush suddenly whispered.

"I have a few more pieces."

"Only a few more pieces?"

"For now.  But much fruit grows in Imladris.  I could get more.  And I could do better than that.  By the creek yonder is a plot of soil that looks suitable for the growing of fruit trees.  If such trees were planted there and carefully tended, in a few years you could pick your own fruit whene'er the fancy took you.  Indeed, such trees would bear sufficient fruit so that, if you wished, you could trade the fruit with your neighbors.  Would you like that?"

"I would like that very much!  To have something worth trading, aye, that would be good!"

"So you will lead me to the caves?"

Hesitation.

"But then _you _would know where we hide in times of danger.  You and your kin could find us and slaughter us!"

"Speak to your father," urged Anomen.  "He is, as you say, a wise man.  Ask him if he has ever heard tell of an Elf attacking a Dunlending.  If he is as truthful as he is wise, he will tell you that when we have fought your kin, it has been in self-defense only."

The bush rustled and fell silent.  Anomen sat anxiously.  He almost wished that he had a pipe, for it occurred to him now that more than once Mithrandir had used his pipe as a way of passing time and steadying his nerves as he waited for the outcome of some battle or conclave.  At last the bush rustled again.  Anomen could see two pairs of feet at the base of the bush, the small ones barefoot, the larger ones clad in worn boots.

 "Master Elf, my lad here says that ye want to know the way to the caves."

"This fellow is nothing if not forthright!" thought Anomen.  He decided to reply in kind.

"Yes.  We have been much troubled by Orcs and wish to pursue and slay them."

"I am much troubled by them as well.  It seems that, Elf though ye be and Man though I be, we have something in common."

"Aye.  That is so.  And I trust that we have something else in common, you and I.  If you give your word, you are to be trusted.  If I give my word, I am to be trusted likewise."

"And ye give your word that ye will never turn against us your knowledge of the whereabouts of our caves?"

"By the Valar, I swear that neither I nor any of my companions will ever do so."

"For my part, I am satisfied—although the fruit trees would be a nice touch as well."

"The fruit trees you shall have."

            "Good.  When do you wish to set out?'

            "The Orcs are mainly abroad at night, are they not?"

            "Aye.  They are mixed Orcs who will tolerate the light, but they prefer to shun it whenever they can.  They are sprung mainly of cave goblins, I don't doubt."

            "Then we shall want to move against them at noon, when most of them are likely to be holed up in the caves.  I will meet with the leader of our company, who will gather all our patrols together at this place tomorrow morning."

            "Good. Until tomorrow, then."

            A brief rustling, and the Dunlending and his son were gone.  Anomen hastened to Berenmaethor and told him what he had learned.

            "So there are caves in Dunland; I never knew that," exclaimed Berenmaethor.

            "Nor I.  It has been a well kept secret!"

            "If we can indeed trap the Orcs in the caves and destroy them, the peril from the south likely will be much reduced for some time to come.  Let us make sure that all will be in readiness for tomorrow's battle."

In the morning, the Elves assembled as agreed near the hovel and as set forth, guided by the Dunlending.  He led them to the basalt field.  At its edge they left their horses, and on foot they followed the Dunlending, who set off without hesitation across the formidable terrain.  As the sun neared its zenith, the Dunlending brought them to the very base of the mountain, where he gestured at three gaping openings.

"It is said that lava once gushed forth from these holes, but it has not happened in living memory."

"Aye, lava tubes," said Berenmaethor.  "They also can be found in the vicinity of Mount Doom, but there the lava still flows.  I would not venture into such a cave in that place!  So the Orcs shelter in there?"

"Aye.  And as you can see, they have not troubled to set a guard, so sure they are that they are untouchable."

"We shall have to teach them better tactics," said Berenmaethor grimly.

The Man left them then, and Berenmaethor proceeded to put his plan into action.  Each Elf was carrying a torch, and now Berenmaethor ordered these brands lit.  However, he did not intend to fight the Orcs within the caves themselves.   No, that would have played to the Orcs' strengths, for they were accustomed to dark and close spaces.  Instead, Berenmaethor divided his warriors into three bands.  Their orders were to advance into the caves until they spied Orcs and then to throw their torches amongst them and race back to the surface.  The torches were designed to create smoke rather than light, and Berenmaethor thus hoped to force their foes to the surface in full daylight, where they could then be dealt with on the Elves' terms.

The plan worked beautifully.  The Elves hurled their torches into the midst of their enemies, and within minutes the Orcs were hacking and gasping for air.  A general stampede began in which many of the fell creatures trampled one another.  The survivors staggered forth into the sunlight, where most of them were cut down by the waiting Elves.  A few of the largest and fiercest, however, managed to break through the ring of Elves.

"Do not let any escape," shouted Baramagor.  "We can leave none alive!"

Anomen pursued one of the fleeing Orcs.   It was fleet of foot for an Orc and dodged nimbly around every obstacle.  At last, just as Anomen was on the verge of cutting the creature down, it darted behind yet another basalt outcropping.  As Anomen leapt after him, a stone, loyal only to the earth of Dunland, rolled beneath his feet.  As Anomen fell, his head struck a rock.  He was momentarily dazed and unable to rise.  Seeing his plight, the Orc turned back.  Leering, the Orc was raising its scimitar to finish him off when the creature suddenly squealed with pain.  Looking down, the Orc gaped stupidly at the sword point that protruded from its chest.  Black blood bubbled from its mouth, and it slowly crumpled to the ground.  Behind the body stood Erestor.  The tutor grunted as he tried to wrest his sword from the body of his foe.

"Must-be-caught-between-two-bones," he gasped. "No-doubt-between-two-bones-of-the-lateral-thoracic-wall!"

"Um, you mean the chest, don't you, Erestor?"

Erestor shot him an irritated look.

"No reason not to use the correct terminology, Anomen."

"I suppose not, except it's quicker to say 'chest' than 'lateral thoracic wall'.  By the time you got that phrase out, you might have an arrow through your own 'lateral thoracic wall'!"

"Hmmph," snorted Erestor.  Then his sword suddenly came free, and he staggered a few steps backward.

"There," he said triumphantly, regaining his balance.  "Proper application of force, that's all it took.  A matter of leverage, really."

Amused, Anomen shook his head.

"Let us rejoin the others," he suggested.  "Oh, and Erestor," Anomen added.

"Yes, Anomen?"

"Hannon le," he said simply.  "I owe you my life."

Erestor tried to look nonchalant.  He cleared his throat.

"Oh, that's all right," he said awkwardly.

Anomen was not fooled in the least.  To the tutor's surprise, the young Elf laid down his weapons and embraced him.  After a moment, Erestor carefully returned the gesture.  Then he cleared his throat again.

"We really had better rejoin the others.  It is possible that there are more Orcs about, and safety lies in numbers."

Anomen stepped back, grimly nodding his agreement.  Then he tried to speak lightly.

"Whence comes this stock of warrior's wisdom?" he teased as they walked back to their companions.

"I fought in the Last Alliance," replied Erestor.

"Did you!?  I never knew that!"

"Gil-gilad was a friend of mine," Erestor said quietly.  "I saw him die."

Moved, Anomen fell silent.

After a few moments, Erestor spoke again, albeit hesitantly.

"I have always wondered whether I could have done anything to save him.  I have always thought that perhaps it was in part my fault that he fell beneath the swords of our foes.  Mayhap I did not fight hard enough, bravely enough."

Anomen thought back to something that Mithrandir had once told him.

"Mellon-nîn, the second time I journeyed to the Shire, I saw a Southron murder two Periannath.  Afterward I wept in the arms of Mithrandir, crying that I should have saved them.  I was certain that I was to blame.  Mithrandir told me that I could not blame myself for the deeds of the Enemy. I remember well his words: "We hinder them as best we can, but when our foes succeed, the guilt lies upon their heads, not ours."

"Hannon le, Anomen," Erestor said softly.  "I thank you for your words."

They were nearing the others now, and Erestor tried to shake off his solemn mood.

"You have spoken wisely, ion-în," he said with mock sententiousness.  "Of course," Erestor added, "that is only to be expected, for you have had the best of tutors, have you not!?"

Anomen snorted.  "Oh, yes, and the best of instructors, the best of teachers, the best of educators, the best of lecturers, as well as the best adviser, counselor, guide, and mentor!  Have I overlooked any synonyms, tutor Erestor?"

"Yes," he answered smugly.  "Professor."

"What?"

"Professor.  One who professes."

"And what do you profess?"

            "I profess that we had better hasten, else there will be no Orcs left for us to slay."

            Indeed, there were no Orcs left to be slain.  All that remained was the onerous task of clearing the caves of their bodies.  The caverns needed to be cleansed and purified against the day that they might in truth be needed as refuges by the folk of Dunland.

            That task completed, the weary yet triumphant Elves set back across the field of basalt.  At its edge, they remounted their horses and headed for the Dunlending hovel, where they had left their packs.  As they approached the hut, they saw that a generous fire had been built in the clearing before it, and upon the fire rested a cauldron of water.  The Dunlending Man stood in the door.  As they approached, he came forward.

"My wife has heated some water.  If you wish, you may use it for bathing.  It is said hereabouts that Elves wither and die if they do not bathe after every battle, whether they are dirty or no."

"Thank you," said Berenmaethor gravely.  "You have gone to much effort to collect firewood, which is dear hereabouts.  You must let us recompense you."

"No."  The Man shook his head vehemently.  "It is I who owe you.  After you departed this morning, I went to check on my cattle.  As I have long been fearing, one of them had been hacked and dismembered.  Had the Orcs stayed longer, no doubt they would have devoured them all—and then who knows what they would have turned to for meat!"

Anomen shuddered.  He had a very good idea of what would next have caught the eyes of the voracious Orcs.

The Elves took turns scrubbing themselves clean of the foulness of the battlefield while the family of the Man stayed discreetly inside their hut.  When the Elves had finished, they pooled their rations and contrived a feast.  Anomen approached the door of the shelter and knocked upon it.  The Man cautiously peered out.

"It is our custom to bathe but also to feast after the conclusion of a campaign.  It is also our custom to invite our friends to take part in the festivities.  I pray that you and your family will join us in meal and merriment."

The Man hesitated.

"We will cut very poor figures amongst your company."

"I happen to know," Anomen replied, "that your son is equipped with a truly inestimable set of teeth, and that is all the adornment that is required on an occasion such as this!"

The Man laughed and called into the darkness behind him, "Everyone put forward your best set of gums; we have been invited to a feast."

Anomen heard shouts of something that sounded like "huzzah! huzzah!"—a cheer favored by Men, no doubt—and a gaggle of children tumbled through the door, followed by a shy woman who kept her hood drawn up.  One of the children was Anomen's 'bush', and he went boldly up to the young Elf.

"I am Hyge son of Heard."

"Well met, Hyge son of Heard.  I am Anomen son of Antadar."

"You are most welcome to Dunland, Anomen son of Antadar," said Hyge grandly.

Anomen bowed.

"We are grateful for your hospitality, Master Hyge."

"You are most welcome," the dignified urchin replied.  Just then he saw one of his brothers running off with an armful of apples.

"Hey, Hordwynn, you can't have all of those," Hyge, who instantly abandoned all semblance of decorum as he yelled indignantly and gave chase to the apple-hoarder.

The Elves took only a few mouthfuls of food at this 'feast', preferring instead to enjoy the sight of the children reveling in a repast so splendid—in their minds at least—that for that night they could eat until the pangs of hunger were driven into the corners of their minds.

"There were so many of them," exclaimed Celaithand to Anomen later that evening as they made camp, "and they all came pouring out of that one hut!"

 "Men are able to have many children—sometimes more than they can feed.  It is both their curse and their blessing, I deem."

Celaithand nodded.

"Aye.  Perhaps some day they will learn to moderate their appetites so that their ability to sire children will be purely a blessing and not a burden."

"Either that, or they'd best learn more of the mechanics of the process so that they can guard against adding unplanned additions to the population of Middle Earth."

"What?"

"Oh, that is something Glorfindel has lately said to me."

"Meaning?"

"I think he meant that it is possible to satisfy the appetites whilst at the same timenot engendering offspring one cannot feed or raise."

Celaithand looked interested.

"If Glorfindel ever tells you more," he begged Anomen, "pray inform me."

"You will have to get in line with Elladan, Elrohir, Baramagor, and Haldir.

"Oh surely not Haldir!"

Celaithand and Anomen both reverted to elfling form and giggled until they noticed Erestor staring at them.  Then they cleared their throats and put on serious expressions as they set about building their campfire.

"Pray tell me," Celathand said pompously, "the exact configuration in which I should lay the fuel in order to generate the greatest luminosity."

"Celaithand," intoned Erestor in a voice that matched the young Elf's, "pray tell me why I shouldn't buffet the cartilage surrounding your auricular orifices."

And then Erestor, too, smiled.


	14. Into The Mist

**Folks, I thought all your responses had been eaten by a voracious CyberOrc, but it turns out that they were all merely holed up in the depths of ****Fangorn****Forest****, from whence they have now emerged.  Phew!  I must tell you that I was beginning to suffer withdrawal symptoms when it appeared that I would not be getting my verbal 'fix'.  No doubt about it: Fanfiction.net is addictive.**

_Farflung__: _Thanks for reviewing again when it looked as if your first review had been shredded into tiny bytes.  Galadriel does want the Greenwood Elves to move on to Rivendell so that a reunion may (possibly) take place, but she is particularly anxious that they hurry because she thinks that crossing the Misty Mountains is becoming increasingly dangerous.  As for Celebrian, I figure Orc depredations can be cyclical.  The Orc threat is growing, but that has happened before.  They rise up, are beaten down, and rise up again.

_Joee__: _I'm sure I'll soon be sending some more business your way!  Maybe there is an error (or two or three or four) in today's post.  Anyway, I won't let your eyes remain idle.  After all, you know what they say about 'idle eyes'.  ^_^

_Daw__ the Minstrel,_ _Jebb__, _and _Karri: _Yes, Erestor has taken up a role that seems like a pretty major departure from his previous behavior.  Still, he had it in him the whole time.

_Konzen__: _The Glorfindel/Anomen father/son thread will play a role both in this chapter and a subsequent one, so I'm glad you like it.

_Elemental Flair: _I must confess that Erestor's obsession with words probably reflects my own fixation.  After all, we are both 'professors'.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, your memory serves you well.  Anomen was captured by Dunlendings when he initially fled from Greenwood to Rivendell.

Vocabulary

Berencû—'Bold Bow'

Durrandîr—'Dark Wanderer' or 'Dark Pilgrim' (modeled on Mithrandir, 'Gray Wanderer' or 'Gray Pilgrim')

Laegmagol—'Sharp Sword'

Laegmegil—'Sharp Sword'

Maegcrist—'Sharp Sword'

Thranduil roamed restlessly through the corridors of the Great Hall, reminding himself that only a few months would pass before the return of Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas.

"And what are a few months to an Elf," he scolded himself.  "For shame!  You, who once thought you needed no one, wander about as woefully as an elfling who has been chidden."

It was no good, however; the King could not shake his feeling of despondency.  At last, to escape the emptiness of the Great Hall, his feet carried him past its entrance and out into the forest beyond.  He wandered about, scarcely noticing where he went.  After a little while, he heard shouts and the thrum of arrows flying through the air.  Drawn by the sounds, he found himself standing on the edge of a training field, where the Master Archer was putting a class of elflings through its paces.  Thranduil smiled at the earnestness of the young archers.  One elfling in particular caught his eye.  This was the smallest of the archers, a little elfling so dogged in his determination that he did not smile whenever his arrow hit the target, which was quite often.  The King walked toward him.  The elfling lowered his bow and stared up at King, his eyes big.  Thranduil smiled down at him, anxious to reassure him.

"You demonstrate great skill with the bow, my son."

The elfling stood speechless, still staring up at the King.  The Master Archer approached and gently prompted him to speak, whispering into his ear and laying a kind hand upon his shoulder.

"Thank you, my Lord," the elfling at last said, although so quietly that Thranduil had to strain to hear him.  He nodded encouragingly at the elfling, however, and tried once more to draw him out.

"What is your name, my son?"

"Berencû, my Lord."

"'Tis a good name, a strong name.  And your father, young one?"

            The elfling looked down and said nothing.  The Master Archer cleared his throat.  Softly he said, "His father was one of those who fell during the battle for Dol Guldur."

            Thranduil stood irresolute for a moment, unsure whether to stay or go.  Then he knelt down so that he could look into the elfling's face.  He rested one hand upon the elfling's shoulder, and his other he placed under the young one's chin, lifting it gently until he could gaze into the elfling's eyes.

            "That is a very great loss.  You must miss him greatly."

            "Yes," said the elfling, his voice breaking momentarily.

            "My own father fell during the Battle of the Last Alliance."

            "That was a very long time ago, wasn't it?"

            "Yes."

            "Do you still miss him?"

"Yes, I do still miss him."

            "Dreadfully?"

            Thranduil pondered before answering.

            "Dreadfully is not the right word, I think.  My sorrow is deep, and it will always be part of my being, but lately my memories of my father bring smiles to my face.  And I think that I have learned from his loss, and the loss of others, to cherish those who still survive to me—something that I did not think possible in the centuries following his death."

            He could see from the elfling's face that this weighty speech had overshot the mark.  He tried again.

            "No, I do not miss him 'dreadfully' because I smile when I think of him.  And since he is gone, I have learned that I had better pay attention to those who still live."

            The elfling nodded.  This he could understand.

            "I have a Nana and two sisters and one brother and three uncles and two aunts and five cousins and two grandnanas and own grandada and also I have greatgrandnanas and greatgrandadas and, and, well, I have a lot of relatives."

            "And friends, too, I'll warrant."

            "Oh, yes, many friends."

            "Good.  Enjoy your family and your friends, and honor your Ada by smiling at his memory.  Can you do that?  It is your King's command, mind you!"

            The elfling straightened his shoulders and nodded vigorously.

            "Of course, my liege!"

            Thranduil arose.

            "Excellent!  I shall be watching your progress with interest, for you show much spirit."

            The King began to walk away but suddenly turned back and knelt once more before the elfling.  Gently he spoke.

            "When I said you should smile at your father's memory, that does not mean that you cannot cry at his loss.  It is necessary and fitting to do both, and one will often lead to the other.  Do you understand?"

            The elfling looked very relieved.

            "Oh, thank you, my Lord!  I want to smile, but sometimes I want to cry, too.  So I may do both?"

            "You may, and you must," said Thranduil firmly.  He smiled at the elfling, and the elfling smiled back, although Thranduil could see that tears trembled in his eyes.

            "The Valar would not have given us lips if they did not mean us to smile, and they would not have given us tear ducts if they did not mean us to cry.  Disregard anyone who would tell you 'Do not weep', for not all tears are an evil."

Thranduil gave the elfling's shoulders a parting squeeze, arose, nodded at the Archery Master, and strode back to the Great Hall.

As Thranduil was returning to the Great Hall, Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas, whose absence grieved him so, were on the verge of ascending to the crest of the Misty Mountains.  They were accompanied by the escort of Greenwood Elves, Rúmil, and Orophin, and, of course, Mithrandir.

They had left their horses behind, in the care of the Lórien Elves, and for several days they had been climbing steadily on foot.  Thus far, they had seen no sign of Orcs, and Gilglîr began to allow himself to hope that they would be able to descend to the valley of Rivendell without encountering any of those fell creatures.  Mayhap, thought Gilglîr, Galadriel had been unnecessarily concerned, although he had to admit that such ill-founded apprehension was uncharacteristic of the Lady of Lórien.

Just short of the crest, as night drew near, Gilglîr ordered the company to stop and make camp.  After all had supped, Gilglîr decided that, as they would soon be crossing over to the Imladris side, it was time for him to say a few cautious words to some of the older Elves about their mission.  It would be helpful if more eyes than his own were on the lookout for the errant heir.  He approached a campfire and sat down to partake of the light-hearted banter that always followed the evening meal. 

"I have been meaning to ask you something, Laegmagol," Gilglîr said at length to the Elf nearest him, who reclined upon his elbow. 

"I'm Laegmegil," grinned the Elf.  "Laegmagol is my brother."

"Oh, of course," replied Gilglîr.  What _were_ their parents thinking when they had named those two?  "Laegmegil, when we are Imladris, if you come across any Elf with golden hair—I mean, other than the Lord Glorfindel—please let me know."

"Ah, so you know about the golden-haired one who dwells in Rivendell," said Laegmegil.  "I had not thought that such gossip would have reached that high in the King's court."

"Gossip?"

"Hearsay, if you will, but Maegcrist over there knows for a fact that the rumors are true, for he saw the elfling himself."

"What!"

"Aye, several centuries ago, when he carried a letter from King Thranduil to the Lord Elrond."

"Several centuries ago!  Why was I not told!?"

Laegmegil looked puzzled.  "It hardly seemed significant enough to trouble you, Lord Gilglîr."

"Not significant enough to trouble me!"

Laegmegil looked distinctly uneasy now.  Why ever was the Seneschal so upset?

Gilglîr leaped to his feet.

"Maegcrist," he bellowed.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the Seneschal.  It was highly unusual for any Elf to shout in such an agitated fashion, and it was unheard of for Gilglîr to do so."

Maegcrist approached nervously.

"My Lord?"

"Tell me what you know of this golden-haired elfling whom you saw in Rivendell!"

"There isn't much to tell, my Lord.  I noticed him because of his hair, which, as you know, is an unusual color for an Imladris Elf.  When I asked who he was, Glorfindel acknowledged him to be his son."

"Glorfindel?  Glorfindel has a spouse?  I had not heard this."

"No, my Lord, he does not have a spouse, but he does have a son.  If you are familiar with the mechanics of the process—"

"I am quite familiar with the mechanics of the process," said Gilglîr irritably, disappointed and embarrassed.  He had gotten worked up over nothing.  He was surprised to hear that Glorfindel had a son, as he thought that the balrog-slayer was much too clever to have begotten offspring in such an irregular fashion.  However, Elves were known to make such a mistake from time to time, although not as frequently as Men, who seemed to have little or no grasp of 'cause and effect'—either that or no command whatsoever over their appetites!  Odd, though, that Glorfindel hadn't gone to greater efforts to acknowledge his son, but perhaps he was yielding to the wishes of the mother in that regard.  Odd, also, that this son of Glorfindel had not taken part in the siege of Dol Guldur.  He would have been old enough if Maegcrist had seen him in Rivendell when he carried that message from Thranduil to Elrond.

Ah, but this son couldindeed have been at the siege of Dol Guldur, Gilglîr suddenly realized.  Perhaps this gossip about Glorfindel accounted for the mystery surrounding Durrandîr, the young Elf whose father was never mentioned.  Yes, if Glorfindel did have a son, no doubt Elrond would have agreed to foster him.  That would permit the son to remain near the father but without causing embarrassment to either Glorfindel or the mother, who, Gilglîr suspected was the one who would have wished to keep the matter private.  The infant having been born, Gilglîr thought, Glorfindel would not have been cowed at the thought of it being publicly known that he had fathered an irregular child!  Indeed, knowing Glorfindel, Gilglîr suspected that the balrog-slayer likely would have been tempted to flaunt the circumstances of the child's birth as a badge of honor.  Yes, no doubt matters were kept quiet out of deference to the mother, and, as Elrond had taken in other fosterlings, no particular notice was given when Durrandîr appeared on the scene.

It was true, of course, that Durrandîr's hair was dark, but Gilglîr had already been giving thought to the possibility that Durrandîr's hair was in fact golden but dyed brown to allow him to participate in the campaign for Dol Guldur.  If Durrandîr were Laiqua, dark hair would disguise that Elf, of course, but such hair also would allow a son of Glorfindel to fight with the Rivendell warriors without attracting the attention of either friend or foe.  Indeed, perhaps it was avoiding the notice of the latter which was of greater import if this were Glorfindel's son.  It would be more important, even, than sparing the mother any embarrassment.  The son of the balrog-slayer would be a tempting target to some.  Elrond's birth sons would be tempting targets, too, but with their dark hair they would be indistinguishable from the other Rivendell warriors.  But a golden-haired warrior amongst the Imladris forces, well, even an exceptionally stupid Orc might make the connection if his head remained attached to his shoulders long enough.    

Yes, Glorfindel might very well have an irregular son, and it was even possible that Durrandîr was this young Elf.  Yet Gilglîr was not altogether comfortable with his own reasoning.  Several matters were left unexplained by the tale.  Why had Galadriel been so enigmatic if the golden-haired elfling was nothing more than the irregular child of the balrog-slayer?  Of course, mused Gilglîr, Galadriel _was_ related to Elrond by marriage.  Likely Elrond, on behalf of his friend Glorfindel, had begged her to be discreet.  Then, too, there was the matter of the mother.  As the child was golden-haired, probably not only the father but the mother had hair of the same color, for everyone knew that any children born to one golden-haired and one dark-haired parent were not likely to have golden-hair themselves.  A golden-haired mother likely would have come from Lothlórien, and that alone might explain Galadriel's reticence.  She may have been protecting one of her folk, mayhap even one of her own kin!

Still Gilglîr was not quite satisfied with this explanation.  Was there not another possibility, he wondered.  Could it be that Glorfindel was _not_ the father but merely claiming that he had sired the elfling?  It would seem odd for him to do so, to lay claim to a child of indiscretion.  What reason would he have to do so?  Gilglîr ran over the possibilities in his mind.  He could be doing so as a favor for someone.  But for whom?  He could be trying to protect the elfling for some reason.  But from what?  If not the child of Glorfindel in the first place, he would not be the target of the balrog-slayer's foes.  Gilglîr's eyes narrowed.  Was it possible that Glorfindel had been keeping an elfling hidden from his rightful father?  Gilglîr shook his head.  Impossible!  Maegcrist had seen the elfling, and he would have been perfectly able to recognize the Prince of Greenwood, for he had been serving in the King's court for centuries!  Unless, of course, he hadn't gotten a good look at him.

"Maegcrist," called Gilglîr, excited anew.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"How near were you standing to Glorfindel's son?"

"Not very near, my Lord.  I was on the far side of a meadow from him.  He was receiving instruction in horseback riding.  Really, if it hadn't been for his hair, I would never have noticed him, for the distance between us was great and he was too far for me to make out his features.  Then, too, he was in motion, as his horse was galloping at the time."

A smile spread over Gilglîr's face.

"Thank you, Maegcrist," he said.  To himself he thought smugly, "I am going to take great pleasure in ferreting out the truth of this situation.  Yes, indeed, I think I shall contrive to make things warm for both Elrond and Glorfindel!  The fiery slopes of Mount Doom shall seem appealing to them before I am done!"

He strode toward the place where he had laid his bed roll.  As he did so, he noticed a thin spiral of smoke drifting from the far side of a boulder.  As no campfire had been built there, he went to investigate.  On the other side, leaning back across the rock, sat Mithrandir.  He was engaged in his most curious custom of breathing in fumes from a long hollow tube attached to a bulbous but open end in which smoldered some sort of weed.  From time to time he would remove the tube from his mouth and blow out curiously shaped clouds, animals usually, although occasionally ships.  He was quite good at it, really.

"Ah, Mithrandir, I did not mean to disturb you."

"And you have not done so, Gilglîr.  Pray join me."

Gilglîr slipped down to sit beside him, leaning back comfortably against the smooth face of the boulder.  He had a sudden inspiration.

"You are constantly traveling, are you not, Mithrandir?"

"Oh, yes.  As Men say, I am a 'rolling stone that gathers no moss'."

"A quaint saying, Mithrandir, as sayings of Men so often are."

"Quaint, yes, but quite true as well—as sayings of Men so often are."

Gilglîr looked aslant at his companion.  Had he offended the wizard?  After all, the Istar _had_ chosen to roam Arda in the guise of a Man.  Or had that choice been made for him?  Gilglîr found himself wondering for the first time about Mithrandir—whence he had come and whither he would go.  With an effort, he drew his mind back to the matter at hand.

"You have often been to Rivendell."

"True, true."

"Tell me a bit about that land.  It is a beautiful place, is it not?"

"Oh, yes, as are all lands inhabited by Elves, each in its own way, of course."

"Rivendell Elves look a little different from other Elves, do they not?"

"Either that, or one could say that other Elves look a little different from the Rivendell ones.  It is all a matter of one's point of view, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course," conceded Gilglîr.

"I suppose that by 'different', you mean that Rivendell Elves tend to have darker hair than the Elves of Lothlórien and Greenwood."

"Yes, Mithrandir.  That is indeed what I was thinking."

"Well, it is quite true.  There is a range of color, of course, but tending toward the dark end of the spectrum."

"I do hope that Tawarmaenas will not on that account feel out of place during his visit.  Is it possible that he will meet any Elves with light hair like his, golden hair perchance?"

"I very much doubt it," replied Mithrandir dryly.

"Ah," said Gilglîr.  He was unable to keep the note of disappointment from his voice, but Mithrandir made as if he did not notice.

Gilglîr tried another tack.

"Mithrandir, there was an Elf named Durrandîr at the siege of Dol Guldur.  He lives in Rivendell, does he not?"

"Durrandîr does not live in Rivendell.  Nor has he ever lived in Rivendell."

Here Mithrandir was being as honest as everyone one else to whom Gilglîr had put this question.

Stymied yet again, Gilglîr nevertheless stubbornly persisted.

"But you do know him?  A young, golden-haired Elf?"

"Yes, I have said so.  He does not, however, have golden hair."

Another honest answer, of course.  Durrandîr, the 'Dark Wanderer', was only Durrandîr as long as his hair _was_ dark.

Gilglîr could not help but sigh.  Mithrandir removed his pipe from his mouth and smiled at him.

"Is something wrong, Gilglîr?" he asked innocently.

It was all Gilglîr could do to keep from glaring at the wizard.

"Oh, no," he replied sarcastically.  "I receive answers from all that are stated with such exquisite attention to the niceties of the language that I am left quite speechless."

"As you have just demonstrated," rejoined Mithrandir ironically.

With that, Gilglîr abandoned his attempt to pry information from the wizard.

"It is said by Men, 'Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes'.  That proverb would be better applied to the Istari!"

Mithrandir laughed.

"I am flattered that you see fit to compare my answers with the enigmatic words of the Eldar.  I have been practicing my delivery long enough!"

Now Gilglîr laughed.

"When next I see the Lady Galadriel, I shall warn her that she has a rival."

"She will not be surprised.  'Twas she who tutored me!"

Both smiled.  Gilglîr arose and bade the wizard a good night.  He saved one jest for last, however.

"Mithrandir," he called back over his shoulder.  "I think you yourself can claim sole credit for the name of these mountains."

The Elf gestured at the vapors that now wreathed the nearby trees.  Mithrandir chuckled and blew forth a troll-like figure that, brandishing a log, pursued Gilglîr to his bedroll before dissolving into the mist.


	15. Fireworks In The Misty Mountains

_Kitsune__: _I'm not even done tormenting 'poor' Gilglîr.  He'll have to put up with more grief when he finally arrived in Rivendell.

_Lyn: _Hmm, this is the third review I've received that objects to the smoking.  I'll see what I can do about making it plain that it shouldn't be romanticized.

_Farflung__: _In some ways 'fairy tales' can be very 'realistic', especially when they are not cleaned up for the benefit of prudish adults (or adults out to popularize fairy tales for a profit—see 'Disney').

_Ky/LucielHex__: _Yep, you're right.  Should have been 'one' instead of 'own'.  You stole a march on _Joee_! Thanks for your vigilance.  Sa-ay! I like that new title: "Your Noble Highness, Queen Elf Eye."

_Daw__ the Minstrel: _I think part of Legolas wants to be discovered while the other part wants to remain hidden.  He is really afraid to take the risk because he would be devastated if his fears that Thranduil doesn't want him were in fact confirmed.

_Karri: _Several reviewers have commented favorably on Thranduil.  Thank you.  Apparently his changed behavior is beginning to convince people that he may be a decent Elf after all.

_Joee__: _There _was_ something to correct!  _Ky/LucielHex_ found it!  You two have to go head to head now!  (Reviewers, start your pencils—and they're off!  First spelling error goes to _Joee_, but, wait, is that _Ky/Luciel_ coming up on the outside waving a subject/verb disagreement!?  But Joee is fighting back with, is it, yes, it is—a sentence fragment!  [And the crowd goes wild!])  ^_^

_Dragonfly: _Thank you.  I really want Thranduil to come across as a changed Elf so that the reunion will be believable.

 Vocabulary

A Elbereth Gilthoniel!—'O Star Queen, Star Kindler!' (Name and title of Varda, Queen of the Valar.  Often shouted as an appeal by Elves going into battle)

Crist—'sword'

Lang—'sword'

Megil—'sword'

Magol—'sword'

Nan cînmellyn!—'To your friends!'

Thoron's warriors were climbing ever higher as the Orcs continued to retreat before them.

"They will soon reach the summit," observed Elladan to his brother.  "Do you think they will go over the ridge itself and start down the other side?"

Elrohir shook his head.

"If they do, they will be caught between our warriors and the Lothlórien patrols.  I think that soon they will stand and fight."

"Elrohir is right," agreed Haldir.  "Not even Orcs could be stupid enough to allow themselves to be caught between two elven forces."

"I have met some very stupid Orcs," said Elladan."

"_That_ stupid?" huffed Elrohir.

"Well," admitted Elladan, "perhaps not _that_ stupid."

"Then I suggest you keep your bow strung tight and your sword loose in its scabbard!"

Elrohir's advice was given none too soon.  The scouts in the vanguard were showered with missiles just then and let out shouts of warning.  The Elves had at last run their prey to the ground, and the Orcs, unwilling to descend the Lórien side of the mountain chain, were mounting a charge back down the Rivendell side.  No doubt their half-goblin leaders hoped that the momentum of a downward charge would give them the advantage and allow them to sweep away their elven opponents.  The Elves, however, quickly took shelter behind boulders.  As the Orcs lumbered by, elven archers brought down many of them.  The half-goblins shrieked at their soldiers to stop and come about.  Now the Orcs were charging back up the slope into a withering rain of arrows.

Tactically, the Elves at first had the advantage.  As was so often the case, however, the Orcs had sheer numbers in their favor.  It was well known that only Men could breed anywhere near as prolifically as these orcish vermin.  For all the Orcs brought down by elven missiles, many remained.  These survivors crashed into the elven lines, and battle was commenced in earnest. 

Several miles away, Tawarmaenas and his escort heard the distant clash of metal.

"Sword upon sword, I think," said Maegcrist to Gilglîr.

"Aye."

"Your orders, my Lord?"

Gilglîr glanced toward Gandalf, who looked back at him with piercing eyes.

The Seneschal spoke slowly.

"It may be that the combatants have naught to do with us, but we cannot be sure.  Mayhap Elves are in peril hereabouts.  We shall move toward the sound—but no one is to show himself until I give the word."

The Greenwood party advanced cautiously.  At last they were close enough to recognize the sound of their kindred's voices.

"Elves, Gilglîr," gasped Tawarmaenas.  "We must go to their aid!"

Irresolute, Gilglîr held back from giving the command.  Was it not his duty to secure Tawarmaenas' safety above all others'?

It was that young Elf, however, who forced Gilglîr's hand.  Drawing his sword and shouting "A Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he leapt forward before Gilglîr had a chance to stay him.  Swearing some very un-elflike phrases under his breath, Gilglîr raced after him.  Hard on his heels came Gandalf, Rúmil, Orophin, and all the others.

The scene that met them was a frenzied one, for the Orcs, being now held at bay, were fighting fiercely.  The half-goblins among them were driving forward any of the lesser Orcs who showed signs of flagging.  Several Elves had been injured and forced to withdraw to the rear.  The Elves were in no immediate danger of being overrun, but the battle appeared stalemated, and the Orcs fought with such reckless hate that there was danger that the battle might turn in their favor if it went on long enough.

Into this impasse leapt Tawarmaenas and his companions.  All the Megils and Magols and Crists and Langs among them now proved to have been very well named, for their flashing swords hewed through Orc bodies as if their foes were boneless.  The battle did not turn in favor of the Orcs.  Neither, however, did it turn in the favor of the Elves.

Dusk drew near.  Both Thoron and Gilglîr knew that the Orcs would find renewed courage with the setting of the sun, and no doubt they would be joined by some of their night-crawling kin who during daytime were loath to creep from their lairs.

At about this time, Haldir was in danger of being cut off from his Rivendell companions.  Seeing his peril, Thoron shouted at him to retreat.

"Nan cînmellyn, Haldir!  Make for safety!"

Haldir looked up and nodded his acknowledgement, but as he did so an Orc charged him.  He managed to fend off that Orc, but a second one thrust under his guard and slashed his hand.

Haldir flinched at the pain that shot up his arm and, looking down at his hand, was momentarily distracted.  An Orc sprang up behind him and raised an axe, ready to plunge it into the Elf's back.  Haldir heard a sudden 'thwock'.  He whirled about and confronted the Orc.  Curiously, though, the Orc stared at him with vacant eyes.  Slowly the creature toppled forward.  Protruding from its back was an arrow—a Lothlórien arrow.  Dazed, Haldir looked about him.  Was he injured so badly as to be hallucinating?  He had seen the Greenwood Elves enter into the fray.  Now it seemed to him that cleaving their way toward him were his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin.  Shaking off his dizziness, Haldir raised his own weapon and began to battle through the Orcs that stood between him and his kin.

At about the same time, the sun at last slipped below the horizon, and more Orcs now began to crawl from every crevasse.  It seemed that as each one fell, two more sprang from the very soil itself.  Elladan and Elrohir and all the other Elves were fighting back to back, but even so they were in danger of being swamped by the night-crawlers.  The tide of the battle now did seem to be turning against the Fair Folk.

Up until this point, Gandalf had refrained from casting any spells.  Instead, at the first sign of Orcs he had drawn his sword, which he wielded with a strength and agility that belied the appearance of age that he wore like a disguise.  It may seem odd that the Istar was relying upon his sword rather than his staff, but only because folk nowadays misunderstand the power of wizards, which flows not only from their ability to work magic, but from eloquence coupled with wisdom.  A wizard is more likely to persuade his audience than to enthrall it.  Then, too, a wizard can not always be casting spells, for the practice wearies him, drawing as it does from the strength of his life force.  Above all, a wizard is not in fact permitted to make full use of the power that he does have.  It is not the will of the Valar that the Free Folk be gifted with Arda without struggling for it themselves.  Perchance if they were, they would not fully appreciate its beauty and beneficence.  No, a wizard is meant to persuade and to guide and upon occasion to assist, but, then as now, it is the Free Folk themselves who in the end have to wrest control of Middle Earth from the forces of evil.

On this occasion, however, faced with the imminent slaughter of a great many young Elves, Gandalf decided to allow some of his strength to pass into his staff and through it into Middle Earth.  Suddenly the battlefield was filled with a loud roar and lit by a flash of brilliant white.  The Orcs, half-goblins and night-crawlers alike, cowered in the light shed by Gandalf's staff.  With a shout, the Elves sprang forward and began to slay their stupefied foes.  The half-goblins were the first to recover their wits, and they tried to force their troops to fight on, but their efforts were in vain.  Gandalf had released not only the power of the Valar; he had also unleashed the courage of the Elves and the corresponding cowardice of the Orcs.  Soon there were no Orcs left standing, and only a very few had managed to creep back into the pits from whence they came.

The battle over, Gandalf strode rapidly toward Elrond's sons, who in their weariness were leaning against each other's backs.

"Mae govannen," gasped Elladan.  "Well met indeed!"

"Yes," panted Elrohir.  "Ever you come unlooked for!"

"So I have been told," said Gandalf.  "Repeatedly," he added dryly.

Both Elladan and Elrohir laughed at this.  Rallying his spirits, Elrohir thought to tease Gandalf about the dramatic light show that he had but lately put on.

"I doubt any of your fireworks will ever equal that explosion!" 

Gandalf gave him a sharp glance from under his bristling eyebrows.

"Spoken by someone who knows more of my fireworks than he ought," the wizard growled.

Elrohir colored.  Both he and Elladan did indeed know more of Gandalf's fireworks than they should, for they had once 'meddled in the affairs of wizards' quite literally by rummaging in one of the Istar's packs.  They had managed to set off a spectacular fireworks display, but they had also succeeded in very nearly killing Anomen in the process.

After giving Elrohir a stern look, Gandalf turned to matters nearer at hand.

"I had best tend to the wounded," he said briskly.  "You and your brother fetch water and see that fires are lit."

Thoron hastened up just then and seconded that command.  He also set some Elves to dispatching wounded Orcs, others to drawing together the carcasses into a pile for burning, and yet others to gathering the necessary wood.  Tawarmaenas, with Gilglîr at his side, commanded the Lothlórien Elves to likewise assist in these tasks.  Gandalf meanwhile got on with the business of examining the wounded, determining who among them needed immediate aid and who could wait.  Methodically he worked his way through the battlefield.  Those with the worst injuries were carried nearest the fires.  The others sat patiently near the edge of the rock field.  Among these latter was Haldir.  He did not go altogether untended, however.  His brothers hovered about him.  They had quickly wrapped his wounded hand to stop the bleeding and had insisted that he drink from the small bottle of miruvor that Rúmil carried.

"I am fine," protested Haldir, embarrassed at being cosseted like an elfling.  His brothers were not to be denied, however.  Haldir was quite relieved when at last Gandalf reached him.

"Let me see that hand," Galdalf said to Haldir.  Quickly Haldir unwrapped it and held it out for the wizard's inspection.

Rúmil stared down at Haldir's injured hand.  Suddenly Rúmil turned very pale, as if he had just seen a wraith or were on the verge of becoming one himself.

"Are you hurt, Rúmil?" Haldir said anxiously.

Rúmil shook his head.

"No, Haldir, I am not.  Let me walk about a few minutes to gather my wits."

Rúmil went off to the side and leaned against a boulder.  After a few minutes Orophin joined him.

"What is the matter, Rúmil?" asked Orophin quietly.

Rúmil raised his face, and Orophin was shocked to see that his eyes were filled with tears.

"What is it?" he said urgently.

Softly Rúmil spoke.

"I had a vision."

"Yes?"

"It was about Haldir."

"What did you see?"

"I saw his hand slashed."

Orophin was perplexed.

"Rúmil, that was no vision.  His hand was cut during the battle."

His brother shook his head.

"Orophin, his hand shall be slashed yet again—and he shall die."

"Die of a hand wound?  Are you sure?"

"I do not think he will die of the hand wound itself.  I think that will be the first wound.  There will be another, a mortal blow from a weapon wielded by an Orc."

"Shall we tell him?" worried Orophin.

"To what end," said Rúmil bitterly.  "It is not something that one can guard against, no, not unless he chooses to flee Arda itself, and that he will not do.  Ai! Why must I be vouchsafed a vision if I cannot use it to save my brother from his fate!?"

"Mayhap," said Orophin quietly, "you were granted this vision so that you know to cherish the days with Haldir that have been granted you.  I know I shall."

Wordlessly, Rúmil looked at Orophin and nodded.  Together they returned to their brother, whose hand by now had been cleaned and bandaged.  Gandalf looked keenly at them.  Wordlessly, Rúmil shook his head.  Sighing, Gandalf nodded and moved on to look after the other injured Elves.  It did not take Galadriel's Mirror to know what the young Elf had seen, the Istar thought sadly.  It was not the will of the Valar that a wizard's staff should either prevent or cure all ills, but Gandalf could not help but wish on occasion that it were.  This would be one of those occasions, and the wizard could not deny that there would be others.


	16. Many Meetings

_CelebgiL__:_  Thank you for pointing out that error for Minas Tirith in your review of Chapter 1.  I will add it to the growing list of spelling errors, goofs, and bloopers!  ^_^ 

_Jebb__: _Yes, it is a double edged sword.  But so much in LOTR is a mix of the bitter and the sweet, especially the ending, when it becomes apparent that Frodo cannot enjoy that which he struggled so hard to save.

_Farflung__: _Maybe Haldir doesn't die after all.  After all, it was only a vision, right?

_Kitsune__: _O.K.  Here's comes some more Anomen.  As always, your wish is my command.

_Daw__ the Minstrel: _As I said above to Farflung, maybe Haldir doesn't die.  Visions are equivocal.

_Joee__: _Oops.  Sorry for omitting your name from the beginning of the latest update of "Got Milk?"  Totally inadvertent, I swear!  Hey, after all, you _are_ my epsilon reader!  ^_^

_Melissa: _Thank you ever so much for your kind comments!  Yes, I will try to update soon!

_Karri: _Oh, dear, I wouldn't want to push you over the edge!  An update of "Got Milk?" has now been posted.  (Heaven knows what possessed me to begin working on two stories simultaneously.  Delusions of grandeur, I guess.)   ^_^   By the way, _Joee_ pointed out that I omitted your name, _Dragonfly_, and _Joee_'s from the Thank You's at the beginning of  the update.  No slight was intended!  Just carelessness on my part!

_Dragonfly:_ Uh oh!  Looks like I pushed a button by showing Rúmil a vision of the death of Haldir!  O.K.  Let me try this: Galadriel is always pointing out how visions can be ambiguous or equivocal.  There, that gives me some wiggle room.  Also, thank you for your latest response to "Got Milk?"

Vocabulary

Gondmaenas—'Stone Craft'

gwador-nîn—'my brother'

Led by Berenmaethor, an exultant band of Elves rode through the gates of Rivendell.  Elrond stood before the Hall awaiting them, for they had sent ahead a messenger to inform him of their imminent arrival.  Even had they not sent a rider, however, no doubt Elrond would have been aware of their approach, for they sang and laughed with abandon.

They rode straight up to the Hall instead of stopping at the stables, for, having defeated the foe so decisively in Dunland, they were entitled to a triumphal entry.  Others would look after their horses for them.  And so they dismounted before the Hall, and their horses were led away by earnest elflings who were excited to have a part to play, no matter how small.

"Mae govannen, Berenmaethor," said Elrond, trying to look solemn.  He bowed deeply to the captain.  "You have done well."

"Hannon le," replied the captain, bowing in return.  "But I can take no credit for the success of the campaign, my Lord Elrond, for the warriors you assigned to me in your wisdom would have made even an incompetent captain look like the most brilliant of tacticians.  Their courage and cleverness will someday provide the stuff of legends, I am sure.  Folk will be reading of their exploits long after the Third Age has drawn to a close.  I must particularly draw your attention to the resourcefulness of Anomen, for had he not befriended a Dunlending lad, I am sure we would still be searching fruitlessly for our foes."

"Come forward, Anomen," declared Elrond, looking about for his foster son, who was standing toward the back of the assembled warriors.  They parted to permit him to approach the Lord of Imladris.  Just as he reached Elrond, however, the solemnity of the occasion was broken, for Estel, having eluded Glorfindel's vigilance, came racing up, his dog Gwaurant barking at his heels.  He flung himself at Anomen, who was instantly transformed from a well-groomed, self-possessed returning hero into a tousled, dusty young Elf with an armful of boy in his arms.  The gathered Elves broke into laughter.  Even Elrond permitted himself a smile.

"Well, Anomen," he teased, "you come back from a military campaign with your face and garments pristine, but you are not back five minutes before you need a bath.  Whatever am I to do with you?"  Shaking his head, he made a great show of sighing.  Then he addressed the assembled warriors once more.

"No doubt you all wish to seek out friends and kin, and I will now dismiss you to allow you to do so.  But be sure that tonight there will be a festive gathering in the Hall of Fire.  Come prepared to dance!"

Cheers (mingled with a few groans) ensued, and the patrol broke up.  Laughing and talking, Elves drifted away in groups of twos and threes.  Elrond beckoned to Anomen.

"Come, my son.  I was about to dine privately in my chamber.  You must join me."

"Yes, Ada.  But tell me," Anomen went on eagerly as they walked into the Hall, "is there any news from the Misty Mountains?"

"Messengers have come and gone several times," replied Elrond.  "The last one reported that they were climbing towards the ridge of that mountain chain, for it seems that the Orcs have been withdrawing before their advance.  They had not yet made contact with the foe, but I suspect that by now they will have.  Any day we may receive word of the outcome of an engagement."

"Ada," Anomen begged, "the next messenger who arrives, may I accompany him when he returns to the Misty Mountains?"

Elrond shook his head, smiling.

"Ever the eager one," he chided the young Elf.  "Remember that the southern border needs guarding, too.  No," he said, holding up a hand to stop Anomen speaking, "I know what you are going to say: the southern border is now secure.  But that is not true.  As long as an Orc breathes in Middle Earth, that will not be true.  It may take time, but our enemies will regroup and return.  The threat has been lessened, but not eliminated altogether.  You will rest a few days and then return to patrolling the border between Eregion and Dunland.  It will be boring at first, I know, but do not fear!  You will have excitement enough ere long!  Now eat your supper, and go to bed!"

"You sound like Gandalf now," grumbled Anomen.  "Where is he, by the way?"

"In Lothlórien, I believe, although, as you know, it is never possible to be altogether sure of his whereabouts.  You are like him, in that respect.  Indeed, once I was sorely tempted to name him as your father for that very reason."

"As my father?"

"Oh, yes.  It was on an occasion when you had once again sent Rivendell into an uproar by running off.  A very unhappy Glorfindel had just brought you back.  Gandalf was visiting at the time, and you promptly attached yourself to him—to save yourself from Glorfindel's retribution, I think!  At any rate, a trader saw you tagging along after Gandalf and asked after your parentage.  'Is that young one yonder kin to Master Mithrandir?' asked the trader.  'His grandson or son, mayhap?'"

"What did you say?"

"I only said that you were akin."

"Ada, that was a terrible answer!"

"Why?  I did not say that you were 'kin'; I said that you were 'akin'."

"Ada, like as not the distinction would have signified nothing to the Man!"

"You don't think so?"

"No, I do not—oh, Ada, you knew that, didn't you!?" exclaimed Anomen, caught between amusement and vexation.  "You expected—nay, hoped!—that the trader would go about telling folk that Gandalf and I were kin!  How could you do that to your friend!?"

"Oh," said Elrond blandly, "I doubt Gandalf's reputation suffered any harm.  If anything, the Men he goes amongst would be impressed.  They have peculiar notions about the siring of sons—I believe they view it as a kind of competitive sport. 

Anomen laughed, thinking of Glorfindel.

"What is so amusing my son?"

"I have lately learned that I also have been enhancing the reputation of Glorfindel."

"Ah, he told you that story."

"You knew of it?"

"Of course.  I believe he took some satisfaction in laying claim to you as his son."

"Yes," said Anomen thoughtfully.  "You acknowledge me as your son, and both Glorfindel and Saruman would have gladly claimed me as such.  Why then does my own father—"

Anomen suddenly stopped speaking, fearful of saying too much.

"You say 'does' Anomen, not 'did'.  Your father still lives."

"You are my father!  I have no other!"

"Glorfindel will be sorry to hear that."

Anomen leaped to his feet.

"I am tired!  I am going to bed!"

"Anomen," Elrond said gently.  "You sound like a little elfling when you speak so."

"I feel like a little elfling at the moment," Anomen said bluntly.

"Little elflings need fathers, do they not?"

"I have many fathers!  I am not in need of another!"

 Elrond gestured for him to sit down, and after a moment of hesitation the young Elf did so.

"Anomen, I do not wish us to part for the evening on such terms."

"I am not angry, Ada."

"No, but you are not happy."

"I will recover."

"You will recover your composure, yes.  In fact, you have already recovered your composure."

"I have had a good teacher," said Anomen wryly.

Elrond sat thoughtfully for several minutes, wondering how he should proceed.  He arose and walked to the table and filled a goblet with wine.

"Would you like a glass, Anomen?"

"Yes, thank you, Ada."

Elrond filled a second goblet and returned to his seat.

"Anomen, even though you have lately spoken as an elfling, you have of course reached the age of majority and are free to choose whither and when you will go.  You may choose to stay here under my command, or you may go elsewhere."

"Are you saying that I must leave Rivendell if I do not obey you?  That I am free to make my choices as long as I choose according to your wishes?"

"You mistake me, Anomen, and I think you do so willfully."

Anomen blushed and looked down.

"I merely meant, Anomen, that you could stay here and serve in the army of Imladris, but that there may be other lands that would equally welcome your service.  Is there no realm other than Imladris that you would wish to see preserved from the ravages of Orcs?"

"Lothlórien."

"Only Lothlórien?"

"I have been treated kindly by the folk of that land."

Elrond frowned.  Mayhap Anomen was not ready.  Still, he would probe a little deeper.

"Anomen, were there not several occasions when you were treated badly by Elrohir, occasions when his 'pranks' verged on or crossed the line into maliciousness?"

"Yes," admitted Anomen.

"Yet when he was badly injured, you refused to leave him, even though you believed it more than probable that you would die by his side."

"Yes."

"You forgave him for his earlier unkindness."

"Yes—but he gave me reason to forgive him!  It is true that he tormented me at times when we were younger, but he more than made up for those actions through his kindness and loyalty."

"You gave him an opportunity to do so, of course.  You did not run away—at least not for very long, that is!"

That gave Anomen pause.  Had he not run away, would his father ever have made up for the neglect and disregard that Anomen had suffered for so many years?  He hesitated.  Elrond looked at him hopefully.  But when Anomen spoke, he was uncompromising.

"Some sins are unpardonable!"

Elrond gazed at him, his face impassive.

"I see, my son," he said noncommittally.  "Well, as you feel that way, for the time being I will not pursue the matter.  And now, as I have no doubt that you truly are tired, let me bid you goodnight.  He arose and, taking Anomen's face between his hands, kissed his forehead.

"Stay well, my son."

"And you, my father."

 After Anomen had departed, Elrond sat quietly for a long time, staring into the fire.  Events would soon move quickly, he believed, and he feared that Anomen was still not prepared.

In fact, events were about to move even more quickly than even Elrond had anticipated.  The combined force of Greenwood and Imladris Elves was climbing down from the mountain on which they had skirmished with the Orcs.  On foot, they slowly made their way to the borders of Imladris, where they were welcomed by a passing patrol.  Gratefully, the warriors accepted the captain's invitation to accompany the patrol back to its camp.  The patrol's skivvies set about cooking a meal for the warriors, and they slept well, given places of honor and comfort nearest the fires and rolled up not only in their own blankets but in those of their hosts.

The next day the captain insisted that the warriors take their horses.

"There are not enough for each of you to have a mount, but at least the injured may ride.  And you will, of course," he continued, addressing Tawarmaenas respectfully, "wish to send a mounted messenger ahead to inform Lord Elrond of your approach."

"Of course," agreed Tawarmaenas innocently.  "I thank you for your offer.  Gilglîr, would you send whomever it seems good to you?"

"Yes, my Prince," said Gilglîr, his face impassive.  Inwardly, he was seething with frustration.  He had wanted to take Elrond unawares so that, if Legolas were in Rivendell, its Lord would have little or no time to spirit him away.  Now he had no choice but to give Elrond notice of the impending visit of the Greenwood contingent.

Two days later, the Elven rider reached the Hall shortly after the noon meal.  From his garments, mud-splattered though they were, he was instantly recognizable as a Mirkwood Elf.

            The Door Warden politely greeted him and summoned a servant who led the guest to a chamber where he could wash and change.  Then the servant led the messenger to Elrond's chamber, where he was greeted graciously by the Lord of Imladris.

            "My Lord, I have been sent to inform you that Prince Tawarmaenas, nephew and heir of King Thranduil, and Gilglîr, Seneschal of the Kingdom of Greenwood, are traveling hence.  Their party is only partially mounted, so they will be here no sooner than the day after the morrow."

            "I thank you for this news.  We will make haste to prepare for their arrival."

            After the messenger had retired, Elrond sent a servant to fetch Glorfindel.  Whether or not Anomen was ready to be reunited with his father, Elrond had long ago decided that he would not force Anomen to return to Mirkwood if he were not willing to do so.

            "Glorfindel, I have lately learned that a party of Mirkwood Elves, including both Thranduil's nephew and his Seneschal, will be arriving in two days' time.  Will you please—"

            "Make sure that Anomen is whisked out of sight.  Yes, Elrond.  A new patrol is about to depart for Eregion, and I shall make sure that Anomen is numbered amongst it."

            "Am I that predictable, my friend?"

            "Considering that I have known you for thousands of years, how can you be surprised?"

            "Apparently _you_ cannot be surprised, that is certain," answered Elrond ruefully.

            Glorfindel went immediately to Anomen's chamber.  Glorfindel had at long last learned that it did not pay to leave Anomen in the dark when he was ordered out of Rivendell.

            "Elrond has received word that a delegation from Mirkwood will soon be arriving.  It will be a high-level delegation, headed as it is by their seneschal, Gilglîr.  It also includes King Thranduil's nephew, a young Elf named Tawarmaenas.  Given these facts, it is highly likely that you will be recognized as, ah, a refugee from Thranduil's realm."

            "I see."

The young Elf looked thoughtful.   "Good," thought Glorfindel to himself.  "He understands the situation and will give me no trouble.  How delightful that will be for a change!"

Well before the Mirkwood delegation hove into sight, Anomen, Celaithand, and several other companions were riding away from Rivendell, heading for the border between Eregion and Dunland, where several strangers had been spotted by previous patrols.  Anomen was unusually quiet as they left Imladris.

"Are you well, Anomen?" asked Celaithand, concerned.

"Yes, I am well."

"Yet you seem troubled."

"I had not expected to leave Rivendell so quickly."

"Oh, but you will soon return," Celaithand reminded him.

"But for how long?" Anomen said softly.

That night Anomen lay awake long after his fellows had drifted off into dreams.  At last he quietly arose, rolled up his blankets, trussed up his pack, and, quiver on back and bow in hand, he slipped from the camp, leaving behind his horse.  The sentry, for all his elven eyes, saw only a brief shimmer in the moonlight.

The next morning, all were baffled when they could find no sign of Anomen save his horse.  Carefully his companions searched the perimeter of the camp.  They saw no tracks of strangers, nothing to suggest that foes had entered their camp and carried the young Elf away.  Moreover, Anomen's bedroll, pack, quiver, and bow were missing.  It hardly seemed likely that enemies would stop to carefully pack up their victim's possessions.  No, Anomen had left of his own volition.  But why?  And whence?

Celaithand decided that he himself would carry word back to the Lord Elrond.  No one else should have to take responsibility for the fact that Anomen had succeeded in slipping away from the patrol.  He appointed one of the older Elves as captain in his absence, and turned his horse's head toward Rivendell.

 When he arrived, he made straight for Elrond's chamber, but Glorfindel, who had just left the Lord of Imladris, stopped him.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" asked Glorfindel.

"I must see the Lord Elrond at once."

"Elladan and Elrohir have just ridden in with a combined force of Greenwood and Rivendell Elves.  Lord Elrond has but a few minutes that he can spare for them before he must dress to greet Prince Tawarmaenas.  I myself have just left his chamber to allow him to devote that time to his sons."

"But another one of his sons is missing!"

"What do you mean!?"

"We cannot find Anomen," said Celaithand.  "I insist that I be allowed to see Lord Elrond!"

Glorfindel of course relented immediately and himself escorted Celaithand to Elrond's chamber.

"My Lord," Celaithand said in a rush, "we cannot find Anomen."

"Cannot find Anomen?" repeated Elrond.  He had not heard those words in years, not since Anomen had outgrown his elfling habit of running away.

"No, my Lord, but we are certain he was not taken by an enemy.  There were no tracks to suggest that, no signs of a struggle.  He vanished from the camp during the night, but so did his bedroll, his pack, and his weapons.

"Have you tried to track him?"

"Aye, my Lord.  But he left his horse behind.  We think he must have taken to the trees."

Elrond was perplexed.  From what would Anomen be fleeing when he was already safely away from Imladris and the Greenwood interlopers?  He turned to his other sons.

"Elrohir, Elladan, will you journey south and try to pick up your brother's trail?  I doubt that he is in any immediate danger, but something is troubling him, and it would be better if he had companionship, I think." 

"Do you want me to join in the search, Elrond," asked Glorfindel.

Elrond shook his head.

"Thank you, my friend.  I suspect it might be better this time if only his brothers sought him out.  He would be made to feel less conspicuous than if the balrog-slayer rode to the rescue."

Glorfindel nodded.

"I understand, Elrond.  Should he not be found within a reasonable length of time, however—"

"You may be sure that I will call upon you."

Elladan and Elrohir arose then and bade their father farewell.  They were accustomed to riding on a moment's notice and were soon at the stable collecting their horses. 

"Elrohir," Elladan suggested as they rode through the gates of Rivendell, "I do not think it will be necessary to travel all the way to the border to pick up Anomen's trail."

"How do you mean?"

"We should start by scouring the very edges of Rivendell."

 "Nonsense!" scoffed Elrohir.  "Anomen always runs _away_ from Rivendell."

"Maybe this time he is running back to Rivendell."

"But why?  If he is spotted and recognized**—**"

"Mayhap he wants to be spotted.  And recognized."

Long ago, after the battle for Dol Guldur, Elrohir had tried to hint to Anomen that Thranduil might welcome his return.  But now, faced with the prospect that his friend—his brother!—might indeed act upon that knowledge, Elrohir found that his feelings were mixed.  He would be happy for Anomen if that young Elf could indeed bask in the affection and respect of his father the King of Mirkwood.  He suspected that Anomen had never given up longing for the King's regard.  On the other hand, a reunion with Thranduil would no doubt result in Anomen's departure from Imladris.  After so many centuries, Anomen was as dear to Elrohir as Elladan and Arwen, and Elrohir began to understand why Elrond might have been for a long time reluctant to permit Anomen to return to Thranduil.

"Ye-es," he said slowly.  "You are probably right."

"I am glad you agree," said Elladan, a trifle smugly.  "We need to find him in a hurry lest he stumble into the path of our Mirkwood guests."

"I think—no," said Elrohir reluctantly.  "We have guarded his whereabouts for centuries, but perhaps he no longer desires—or needs—such protection."

Elladan was incredulous.  "So we are simply going to allow him to walk into the arms of those Mirkwood Elves!?"

"If that is what Anomen wishes, yes."

"But what will Ada say!?"

"Do you truly believe that our father would prevent Anomen from returning to Thranduil if that is what our brother indeed wishes to do?"

Elladan stared at Elrohir.

"But you have said it—he is our brother."

"Aye, and Thranduil's son as well."

It had been centuries since Elrohir had seen tears in Elladan's eyes.

"I am sorry, Elladan," Elrohir said softly.

"Mirkwood is so far!"

"Ah, but," said Elrohir, trying to rally his own spirits as well as his brother's, "we are immortal.  Even if we should be parted from Anomen for a century, we will still have an infinite number of years to spend with him!"

Elladan tried to smile and reply in kind.

"At least we will no longer have the bother of remembering all those different names for him!"

"Right!" rejoined his brother.  "No more of, if this is Mirkwood, he must be Durrandîr!"

            The two brothers set their horses free to graze and began to slip through the forest surrounding Rivendell, visiting in turn each tree that was known to be a favorite haunt of Anomen.  At last Elladan grabbed the sleeve of Elrohir's tunic and gestured toward an old oak tree.

            "There, on that limb," he whispered, "he's sleeping."

            "Good," Elrohir whispered back.  "It will be easy to creep up on him."

            "You mean 'easier'," his brother shot back.

            Elrohir grinned and nodded.  Whether Anomen was asleep or awake, it was never 'easy' to creep up on him.

Sure enough, by the time they had stolen to the trunk of the tree, Anomen was sitting up and peering down at them.

"Elladan, Elrohir, what are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here," rejoined Elrohir, "when you are supposed to be with Celaithand patrolling the border between Eregion and Dunland?  Do you so lightly abandon your charge and your companions?"

"I have not placed them in peril," Anomen retorted.  "Ada only sent me on patrol to get me out of the way.  They had no real need of me."

Elrohir decided to cut to the heart of the matter.

"Anomen," he asked, "what is the matter?  Why did you slip away from the patrol?"

"The nephew of Thranduil is among those coming to visit."

"That is true," said Elrohir, his voice neutral.  He and Elladan looked at each other.

"Elrohir," continued Anomen, "didn't you once say that the nephew was sorry that the prince had vanished?"

"Yes.  Tawarmaenas told me that he had been fond of the prince and that he had no desire to be king.  I believe that he spoke with all sincerity."

"How could you be certain?"

"Anomen, he met my eye without flinching, and his voice was strong.  He gave every appearance of uttering that which his heart truly felt."

"I wish I could believe you," said Anomen softly.  "I _want_ to believe you," he added a little more loudly.  Then he shook his head and again lowered his voice.

"But it would be too awful to discover that it were not true.   Anyway, I cannot risk discovery.  I do not want to be dragged willy-nilly back to Mirkwood!"

"Gwador-nîn," said Elladan, "would it not be better to be certain?  One way or the other you could be sure of where you stand.  Whatever you learn, would it not be better than living forever in a state of doubt?"

"Perhaps," said Anomen slowly.  But then he shook his head.  "There is still the risk of being found out!"

"Oh, there need be no risk," Elrohir assured him.  "Hide yourself in the garden, behind the statue of Gil-galad.  Elladan and I will take Tawarmaenas walking this evening.  We will linger near the statue and talk of the missing Prince."

Anomen hesitated.  Then he nodded.

"Do you suppose," he added wistfully, "that you could eventually bring the conversation around to Thranduil?"

"Oh, yes," Elrohir promised.  "I am sure we could manage that."

"Very well, then," said Anomen.  "I will do as you suggest."

That evening Elladan watched from his window as Anomen slipped into the garden and hid behind the statue of Gil-galad.  Then he went to fetch his brother, and the two of them sought out Tawarmaenas.

"Tawarmaenas," called Elladan, "come walk with us in the garden.  It is an exceptionally fine evening."

Tawarmaenas cheerfully complied.  He liked the twins, he liked gardens, and he liked walking.

Once in the garden Elladan and Elrohir gradually steered their guest toward the statue of Gil-galad.

"Tawarmaenas," said Elrohir when their visitor lingered too long before a fountain, "come and see this statue.  Our father says that it was sculpted by Gondmaenas, the elven artist who was said to have been trained by the Dwarves of Moria.

His interest captured, Tawarmaenas moved toward the statue and began to admire it.

"It is indeed impressive!"

He began to walk around the statue.

"Tawarmaenas," called an alarmed Elladan.  "Look at that butterfly.  Have you ever seen one like it?"

Tawarmaenas turned to look where Elladan pointed.

"Why, that is a very common butterfly in the clearings of Greenwood.  Is it rare hereabouts?"

"Oh, yes," Elladan assured him.  "I have never seen it on that plant before."

Which was quite true.  Elladan had never before spied the insect on that _particular_ plant.

Elrohir sat down upon a patch of moss.

"Let us recline upon the bosom of Arda so that the declining sun may caress us."

Elladan choked.  'Recline upon the bosom of Arda so that the declining sun may _caress_ us'!?  Had Elrohir been dipping into one of the romances that Glorfindel kept hidden in his wardrobe?  Oh, this would be good for several weeks of chaffing, at the very least!  Struggling to keep a straight face, Elladan plopped himself upon the grass and patted the space next to him.  Tawarmaenas sat down beside him, and the three young Elves began to talk lightly of their various adventures.  At length Elladan asked Tawarmaenas about the training he was receiving.

"This journey no doubt has given you some idea of the matters that you will someday need to consider when negotiating treaties."

"Yes, I suppose it has.  No doubt most treaties will be negotiated when my cousin is in residence, but on occasion he may be absent when some issue needs to be addressed.  It will be good for me to be prepared so that I may acquit myself honorably in his stead."

"Have you heard aught of your cousin?'

"Oh, yes," Tawarmaenas said eagerly.  "When we crossed the plain between Greenwood and the Misty Mountains, we sheltered one night with Beorn the Shapechanger.  He told me that his father once protected a light-haired elfling who likely was traveling from Greenwood to Lothlórien.  I am sure that it was Laiqua!  For who else could it have been?  No other elfling has gone missing from Greenwood."

"So it is near certain that he did not fall prey to spiders."

Tawarmaenas shook his head vehemently.

"Certainly not!  Moreover, the Lady Galadriel vouchsafed me a vision.  I saw Laiqua grown up, and I saw myself in the throne room but as Steward, not King."

"You looked in Galadriel's Mirror!" exclaimed Elladan and Elrohir together.  They looked at Tawarmaenas enviously.  The twin sons of Elrond had never been permitted to look in the mirror.  Nor would they be likely to do so any time in the near future.  Elladan shot Elrohir an accusing look.  Whatever had possessed him to go and pour a bottle of Dorwinion wine into their grandmother's basin?  Well, never mind.  Elladan returned his attention to Tawarmaenas.

"Steward.  That is good."

"Aye," agreed Tawarmaenas.  "It would be a shame if the trouble my masters have taken in training me were all for naught, although it would be even worse if Laiqua were not to return.  When he does return, everyone will be satisfied and happy, and the King not least of all!"

"Indeed?"

"Oh, yes.  He grieved for the longest time.  He still grieves, I think, but he has accepted that he must take responsibility for the kingdom, no matter how great his sorrow."

"He never grieved in public, though," observed Elrohir.

Tawarmaenas shook his head.

"No, he did not.  Instead, he would sit in Laiqua's room, where no one else is allowed, save Gilglîr upon occasion.  I would peek in around the corner, and there he would be.  He would cry a little and hug to his chest one of Laiqua's old toys—indeed, it was his only toy, I think."

 Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, stunned.  Their amazement, however, was nothing as compared to Anomen's.

'My father wept for me.  My father wept for me.  My father wept for me'.  The words pounded through his head like the hoof beats of a galloping horse.  Tawarmaenas and the twins may have gone on talking after that, but Anomen heard no more.

At length Anomen came back to himself.  The garden was empty, and much time must have passed, for Anomen found himself gazing up at the stars.  Then something blocked out the shimmering points of light.  It was a hat, a wide-brimmed hat.  Gandalf's hat.  The wizard held a plate in one hand and a goblet in another.

"Elladan and Elrohir thought you would be hungry and thirsty," the Istar said simply.

Dazed, Anomen sat up and gratefully accepted plate and glass.

"Gandalf, I did not know you had returned to Rivendell.  Ever you—"   

"—come unlooked for.  Yes, I know.  How do you feel?'

"Dizzy."

"Eat a little.  Even an Elf will become weak if he goes too long without sustenance."

Anomen took a bite of cheese and was surprised to find how hungry he was.  Eagerly he devoured all that was before him.  Gandalf was suitably impressed.

"Not even a Dwarf could have done better justice to that plate.  Do you think you could manage a belch?"

"Gandalf!"

"Well, well, it was only a thought.  And now, would you like to talk?"

"Tonight?"

"Can you think of a better time?"

"I am tired, Gandalf."

"Oh, ho, does the elfling need his sleep?"

"Yes!  And I would not object in the least if the mean old wizard were to growl 'Go to bed!' at the poor little elfling."

"Very well, then: Go to bed.  But do you plan to sleep under the stars?  The sky is clear.  It will be cold tonight."

"I can't very well climb up the trellis, Gandalf.  It has been shortened and moved out of reach of the window."

"You could stroll in through the entrance.  No one would stop you."

"I will be seen."

"Is that still an issue?"

"Yes."

"Why ever so?"

"I need time, Gandalf."

"I would have thought that even for an Elf a thousand years would have been sufficient."

"Gandalf, we are talking."

"Meaning?"

"I said that I did not want to talk just now."

Gandalf waved his hand dismissively.

"But as we are already talking we may as well continue."

"No.  I truly am tired, mellon-nîn."

"Very well.  I have a room on the ground floor.  Apparently Elrond does not think that I can make the stairs!  I will go around and be sure that nothing blocks the window."

"Thank you, Gandalf."

            For the next fortnight, Anomen spent his days in Gandalf's chamber.  The time did not lie too heavily upon his hands.  He whiled away hours in the perusal of the various volumes of lore that Gandalf requested from the library.  Erestor himself delivered them and always took the opportunity to sit with Anomen for a spell.  Elladan and Elrohir kept finding reasons to go to Gandalf's chamber to seek advice and counsel from the wizard, and Glorfindel and Elrond likewise found it necessary to consult their old friend.  Gandalf's room became a regular hub of activity.  As for the servants, they delivered and removed plates and clean linen, all the while not seeming to notice the young Elf who kept carefully out of view of the window.

Anomen refused to speak of the incident in the garden for several days.   At last the wizard prevailed upon him to talk a little.

"Anomen, from what Tawarmaenas has said, it is plain that Thranduil misses his son."

"I don't think it is plain at all, Gandalf."

"I do not understand."

"Gandalf, when I knew Tawarmaenas, of all Elves he was the most sweet-tempered.  He offered his affection unstintingly to all, and he trusted everyone.  Given the slightest excuse, he would think well of a person.  I am surprised that he has grown up able to think ill even of Orcs!"

"Pray spare me the hyperbole, Anomen."

"But it is true," insisted Anomen.  "No doubt Tawarmaenas finds good in Thranduil, but can I trust his judgment?  Is he seeing what is really there?"

 "And are you sure you are not _refusing_ to see what is there?"

"Gandalf, why should the situation change?  I am happy."

"_You_ are."

Anomen arose and began to pace in agitation.

"Gandalf, I am not responsible for his unhappiness."

"I did not say that you were," replied Gandalf calmly.  "Yet you were not responsible for the happiness of Frodo's kin, and you freely chose to restore him to them, thus securing their joy for many years to come."

"Frodo had never harmed me."

"Elrohir mistreated you several times when you were younger, yet you would have died for him."

"Elrohir made a mistake.  He is sorry now."

"Thranduil made a mistake.  He is sorry now," echoed Gandalf.

"Elrohir was young; the young may be forgiven.  Thranduil was older, and he should have taken responsibility for his son!  As he had no love to spare for his son, he cannot expect his son to have any to spare for him!"

Gandalf was unmoved by Anomen's vehemence.

"Say not that Thranduil loved his son too little, but that he loved his wife too much."  

            "Those words are too easily spoken; soon you will be as glib as Saruman!"

Gandalf was both startled and angry.

"I will not listen to you speak ill of the head of my order!" 

            "I am old enough to speak as I wish."

            "Old enough, but not wise enough!"

            A knock was heard at the door.

            "Enter!" barked Gandalf.

            Erestor opened the door a crack and peered cautiously around its edge.

            "If I did not know better," offered the tutor, "I would say that the Dark Lord has crept even within the walls of the dwelling of the Lord of Imladris.  For when friends quarrel, is it not a sign that the evil power has found a foothold?"

            Upon hearing those words, both Anomen and Gandalf looked as silly as they felt.  Simultaneously, they turned to each other and spoke as one. 

            "I am sorry, mellon-amin."  

            "Ah," said Erestor gleefully, "you are literally in accord—metaphorically, too, I hope."

             "Tell me, Erestor," said Gandalf.  "Have you never met a metaphor you didn't like?"

            "Ah, you stutter, Gandalf," replied Erestor, grinning wickedly.  "As for me, I truly can't remember ever having 'met a for'."

            Both Anomen and Gandalf groaned.

            "Out! Out!" they both shouted.

            "Still in accord, I see," chuckled Erestor as he ducked from the room.

            After he was gone, Anomen grew serious.

            "I have trusted you this far; you have not led me astray.  Forgive me.  I was wrong to question you."

            "There is nothing to forgive, Anomen.  I should not have pushed you so hard."

            The wizard sighed and rubbed his face.

            "I don't know about you, 'elfling', but this old Man is tired.  Pray remove your gear from the mattress so that I may have the use of my bed!  And tonight, when you make up your pallet, do not lay it directly in the path to the antechamber!  I had to arise during the night, and I tripped over you."

"I know," grinned Anomen.

"Oh, and you find that funny!?"

"Your language was!"

            "Ah, so you see," Gandalf rallied him, "that I am in no danger of becoming as 'glib' as Saruman."

            To that, Anomen made no answer.  Privately, however, he thanked Manwë for the truth of Gandalf's words.  In spite of their late quarrel, he knew that he would always prefer his friend's speech, no matter how blunt, to the blandishments of the Istar of Isengard.


	17. Searching Questions

_Angeline__:  _Thank you for your response to Chapter 15.  I don't think I ever got back to you on that.  Hope you like today's update.

_Farflung__: _As for Anomen's 'composure', I think he acquired it from both Thranduil and Elrond—but one of these two role models uses 'composure' badly while the other makes good use of it.  As for Anomen forgiving Elrohir, I cannot claim to have "cunningly planned this all along."  This is another good example of how the story seems to write itself.  Once an element comes into being, a way to use it suggests itself to me in such a way as it seems to have been inevitable all along.

_Dragonfly: _Eventually he will be able to 'process' the knowledge and act upon it in a positive way.

_Jebb__: _Ah, you noticed the film script.  ^_^   (Writer cavorts and sings with pleasure.)

_Melissa: _Yes, even though in years Anomen is over a thousand years old, developmentally, he is like a late-teenager or young adult.  Humans are still maturing into their mid-twenties; Elves are still maturing as they reach the end of their first millennium and begin their next (at least in my version of Middle Earth).

_Joee__:_ Sooooo, Joee, did you ever finish that paper on Canada during the Depression?  He he he!  I don't have a paper!  I don't have a paper!  (Writer cavorts and sings with pleasure yet a little more.)

_Karri: _Yes, we are reaching the point at which the sorrow is going to be inextricably mixed with the joy.  *~*

_Kitsune__: _Well, as you already know, I did write the story about how the wine ended up in Galadriel's Mirror.  I now realize that I'll have to go back and slightly emend the Dol Guldur story because, if I remember correctly, in that story the twins are just meeting Haldir and his brothers.

            During the fortnight that Anomen lay hidden in Gandalf's chamber, Gilglîr was doing his best to unravel the mystery surrounding 'Durrandîr' in order to determine whether that young Elf was Legolas in disguise.  To his consternation, however, he found that, whether intentionally or by design, his efforts, no matter how clever, were continually thwarted.

            His first opportunity arose as he and Glorfindel sat together in the Hall of Fire one evening.  Glorfindel was relaxed, rolling a goblet of wine between his hands, his legs stretched out toward the warmth of the dancing flames.

"Some strange rumors have been circulating about you, Lord Glorfindel, Gilglîr began."

"And all true, too," deadpanned Glorfindel .

"Oh, I doubt that.  Did you know some actually claim that you have a son?"

"Indeed?  I am flattered."

"But you have no spouse."

"Why, Seneschal, I am astonished at you.  Strictly speaking, a spouse is not necessary.  Allow me to explain the mechanics of the process to you."

"Lord Glorfindel," Gilglîr answered politely, albeit with an effort, "I assure you that I am quite familiar with the mechanics of the process.  So it is true, then, that you have a son?"

"There is one whom I would acknowledge as my son," said Glorfindel carefully.  "Indeed, there was a time when I did so."

"And now?"

"If I were called upon to do so, I would."

"Does he have golden-hair?"

"I believe any son of mine would be likely to have hair that is golden or at the very least light in color."

"Where is this Elf?"

"I do not know."

Glorfindel was of course speaking as truthfully as Galadriel had before him.

"What is his name?"

"At the moment?"__

Glorfindel shrugged noncommittally.

            "Did he ever go by the name Durrandîr?"

            "I do not call him that."

Which was true—at that particular point in time.

            "What do you call him then?"

            "I named him Leif."

            Quite true.  Glorfindel had given Anomen the name 'Leif Anomenson' when they had journeyed together to Bree.

            Gilglîr was beginning to see that he would be little more successful at prying information from Glorfindel than he had been at prying it from Galadriel.  At least, though, Glorfindel had in part acknowledged the existence of a mysterious young Elf, one whose parentage had never been formally acknowledged.  But the balrog-slayer had not revealed the location of this Elf.  Worse, Gilglîr now had another name to mull over: Leif.  The name 'Leif' strongly caught Gilglîr's attention.  Coincidence?  Or an echo of the element 'leaf' in Legolas?  Gilglîr sighed.  Whatever it was, he would never learn the truth from Glorfindel.  After talking politely a little while longer with the balrog-slayer, Gilglîr excused himself and retired for the night.  "Tomorrow," he said to himself grimly, I am going to confront Elrond and force the truth out of him."

            The next morning Gilglîr was on his way to speak with the Lord of Imladris when he spied Estel romping in the garden with his dog Gwaurant.  He paused as an idea struck him.  Surely, Gilglîr thought, it could not be too difficult to pry information out of a Man, especially one who was only a boy.  He strolled into the garden.  Smiling at Estel, he bent down to scratch between the dog's ears, guessing that doing so would endear him to the boy.  In this he was correct.  While most Elves warmed up to Gwaurant more quickly than Erestor had, in general the Fair Folk were much fonder of their horses than of Estel's dog.  Estel rewarded Gilglîr with a friendly grin and his confidence.  When Gilglîr sat down upon a stone bench, Estel came to sit beside him, swinging his legs and chattering merrily.  Gilglîr asked him many questions.  To most of his queries, he already knew the answers, but he wanted to encourage Estel to talk as freely as possible.  At last Gilglîr turned the conversation to the boy's foster family.

            "Tell me about your brothers," Gilglîr coaxed Estel.

            "I have three—ElladanElrohir'n'Anomen."

            "Anomen?"  This was not a name that Gilglîr had ever heard.  "Is there not another one, a young Elf called Durrandîr?"

            Estel shook his head.  "Just those three.  I also have a sister, and her name is Arwen.  She was here when I arrived, but after she gave me a bath, she went away to Lothlórien."

            "But was not Durrandîr here as well when you arrived?"

            "No," said Estel cheerfully.  "Just ElladanElrohir'n'Anomen."

            "Very well.  Tell me a bit about Anomen.  What color is his hair?"

            "Oh, it changes," said Estel airily.

            Gilglîr struggled to hide his excitement.  Perhaps Glorfindel had been telling the truth.  Durrandîr was his son, and this other one, this 'Anomen', was Thranduil's heir.  Of course, he could not overlook the possibility that 'Anomen' was another name for 'Durrandîr'.

            "What do you mean, it changes?"

            "My brothers are very naughty sometimes.  They paint each other's hair."

            "Have Elladan and Elrohir ever 'painted' Anomen's hair brown?"

            "Oh, no.  Why would they?  _That_ wouldn't be any fun at all."

            No, thought a disappointed Gilglîr, it wouldn't be any fun dying the hair of a brown-haired Elf brown.  Of course, Estel had only meant that the young Elves favored bright dyes, like blue and orange and purple.

            Gilglîr, however, did not realize this, so he abandoned that line of questioning and opened up a new one.

            "Many Elves visit Imladris, is that not so?"

            "Oh, yes.  Everyone wants to come to Rivendell—even Dwarves sometimes.  And Gandalf says that once a Periannath came here!"

            "Gandalf?"

            "Mifunder!" lisped the urchin through his missing front teeth.  "But he doesn't like it when I say that, so I call him his other name."  The wizard's elven name was one that the child still had trouble with, although he never mispronounced it deliberately, as he did Erestor's.  

            "Ah, now I understand."

            "Gandalf says that one day he may bring another Periannath here!"

            "Is that so?"

Only once in his life had Gilglîr met one of the fabled Halflings, a bold little fellow who had single-handedly headed off a battle at the Lonely Mountain between Dwarves and the combined forces of Mirkwood and Esgaroth.  The Periannath had spirited away the Arkenstone so dear to the Dwarf Thorin and then returned it in exchange for that Dwarf's reluctant agreement to share the hoard of the dragon Smaug, who had been slain by a Laketown archer, with both Elves and Men.  Gilglîr had been impressed not only by that Periannath's doughtiness but by his unselfishness, for he had agreed to forfeit his own share of the treasure in order to bring about the truce.  And this to forestall harm to people who were not even his of his race, let alone his kin!  For a brief moment the seneschal wondered what had become of that Halfling, but then he once again began to question Estel.

"So Rivendell is visited by Dwarves and even an occasional Periannath."

"Yes."

"And of course Men visit here from time to time."

"Yes! Especially Halbarad.

One of the Dúnadain, no doubt, thought Gilglîr.  In Mirkwood it had long been known that Elrond willingly hosted those uncouth humans.

"And Elves from foreign realms journey here, too, is that not so, Estel!"

The lad nodded vigorously.

"No doubt some of these Elves look much different from the Imladris Elves."

"_Very_ different!" declared Estel emphatically.  "_You_ don't dress at all like a Rivendell Elf, and Rivendell Elves have dark hair."

"My hair is golden.  Have any other Elf with golden hair been visiting Rivendell—perhaps an Elf about as old as Elladan or Elrohir?"

"Oh, yes."

For a second time Gilglîr struggled to hide his excitement.

"Can you tell me about this young Elf?"

"I can tell you plenty because he is my friend.  His name is Haldir, and he comes from Lothlórien.  He has two brothers, and he promised that someday they would come to visit me.  He kept his promise, for they arrived when you did!"

Haldir of Lothlórien.  The Elf Gilglîr had met fighting Orcs in the Misty Mountains.  Ai! Had Gilglîr asked whether any golden-haired Elves _lived_ in Rivendell rather than _visited_ in Rivendell, he would have gotten a very different answer.  Estel would have cheerfully regaled him with tales about both Glorfindel and Anomen.  But Gilglîr did not ask.  Instead, he sighed.  Perhaps, he thought, Legolas had once been in Rivendell, but if he had, not recently enough for Estel to have met him.  The seneschal was sure that the imp could manage a convincing lie at will, but he doubted that a child so young could dissemble at such length and with such consistency.  No, Legolas was not in Rivendell.

Thus far Estel had told Gilglîr nothing to contradict anything that the Elf had been told by Glorfindel.  Of course, that did not mean that Legolas had _never_ been in Rivendell.  In the end, Gilglîr would have to corner Elrond and perhaps Elrohir as well—separately, of course, so that they could not collude.  Gilglîr arose and bade farewell to Estel.

"Thank you for sharing your time and your dog with me, Estel.  I must go now to speak with your foster-father."

"Of course!"

The lad nodded and, sliding from the bench, began to romp with his dog.  One further thought occurred to Gilglîr.

"Estel," he called.

The boy looked up at him and smiled.

            "Have you ever," Gilglîr said hopefully, "met an Elf named Leif?"

            Estel shook his head vigorously.

            "Ah.  Very well then, Estel.  Farewell for now."

            "Farewell, Lord Gilglîr."

            "So," Gilglîr thought to himself as he walked away, "if 'Leif' is indeed the name of Glorfindel's irregular son, he has not been in Rivendell recently.  But neither has 'Durrandîr, assuming, of course, that 'Durrandir' is not in fact merely another name for this 'Leif'.  The only foster-son of Elrond that Estel is acquainted with is 'Anomen', and he does not have golden-hair."

            Gilglîr shook his head in bafflement.  Tawarmaenas was sure that he had seen a grown-up Laiqua in Galadriel's mirror, and who else could Beorn's father have assisted?  Yet if Legolas had not come to Imladris, where had he fled?  Who had given him sanctuary?  Was it possible that he dwelled alone in some desert place, scrabbling a living as a hunter or trapper.  In the north perhaps, where only Rangers trod?  Thus musing, Gilglîr came at last to Elrond's chamber.

            The Lord of Imladris had been expecting this interview ever since the messenger had arrived with news of the approach of the Greenwood Elves.  He was on his guard, of course, but also knew that he could not lie.  Gilglîr, however, made things easy for him.

            "You have a most interesting household, Lord Elrond," he commenced.  "Dwelling here at the moment are your own sons by birth, but also a little human foster-son, and an elven foster-son by the name of Anomen.  You have a generous spirit, to open your home and heart to those not related to you by blood, indeed, not even of your race, in the case of the little human."

            "I thank you," Elrond replied gravely, waiting for Gilglîr to begin questioning him closely about Anomen.

            Gilglîr, however, had been innocently misled by Estel into thinking Anomen had brown hair.  To Elrond's surprise, the Seneschal thus said no more about that young Elf.

            "Have you had any other fosterlings, Elrond?"

            "Oh, yes, several, some from Imladris itself, others from Lothlórien."

            He did not, Gilglîr noticed with disappointment, say that he had ever had any from Greenwood.  Of course, it never occurred to Gilglîr to ask whether Anomen himself was from Greenwood.  The Seneschal went on nevertheless.

            "Are any of these fosterlings hereabouts at the moment?"

            "No, only the two you have mentioned.  There have been no others for the last thousand years."

            Gilglîr's hopes of finding Legolas at Rivendell very nearly withered.  Not for the last thousand years!  Still, he had one last throw.

            "Has Imladris ever been visited by an Elf named 'Durrandîr' or one named 'Leif'?"

            "Elves called so have never set foot within this realm," replied Elrond blandly.

            "My Lord Elrond, forgive me, but I have lately heard a rumor that Lord Glorfindel has fathered a son.  Is this so?"

            "Only Glorfindel can answer such a question with surety.  But," Elrond continued, smiling now for he realized that Gilglîr was at an impasse, "surely you have not traveled all this way for small talk.  Let us turn our attention to this message that you brought from King Thranduil.  I find that his requests for revisions in our latest treaty are eminently reasonable, and, if you like, I can have Erestor draw up the amended terms within a day or two.  Would that be agreeable?"

            Gilglîr could say naught else but say that it would be agreeable indeed, and so he gave over all hope that Elrond would unravel the mystery of Legolas/Leif/Durrandîr.

Even though Gilglîr had managed to win no information from Elrond, perhaps, he mused as he left Elrond's chamber, one of the twin sons would be more forthcoming than the father had been.  Ai! Here, too, the Seneschal was to be thwarted.  Gilglîr observed that neither Elladan nor Elrohir were present at the noon meal that took place shortly after his conversation with Elrond.  All else were present: Tawarmaenas, Estel, Erestor, Glorfindel, Mithrandir, and, of course, Elrond, himself.

"Where are the twins this fine day, Lord Elrond?"

"They have left for the west, to reinforce one of the companies that patrols the border nigh the Last Bridge.  They will be gone for several weeks, I am afraid."

 To the west.  Not to the Misty Mountains.  For several weeks.  Ruling out any chance that Gilglîr would encounter Elrohir even on his journey home, let alone during the remainder of his stay in Rivendell.  Gilglîr tried to steel his face so that his vexation would not show, but he was sure he caught a glint of amusement in Elrond's eyes.  Moreover, he was certain that he heard Mithrandir snort, a rather astonishing noise to come from out of the wizard's estimable beard.

Not too many days later, the Greenwood Elves, accompanied by Haldir and his brothers, bade farewell to the Imladris Elves and to Gandalf, who had announced his intention to once again visit the land of the Periannath.

"I wonder which of the Imladris Elves was Mithrandir's son," commented Maegcrist as they rode away from Rivendell on the horses that Elrond had loaned them for the first stage of their return journey.

"What!" exclaimed Gilglîr, scandalized.

"Oh, did you not know?  It seems that it is not only Glorfindel who has sired an irregular child.  I was once in Esgaroth when a trader swore that the wizard had a son living in Elrond's household.  His story was quite convincing.  He said that Elrond himself had confirmed the relationship."

Gilglîr shook his head in bewilderment.  Was there something in the water that flowed through the fountains of Rivendell, some mineral that incited liaisons of the carnal variety?  If so, Elrond had better keep its existence a well-hidden secret, else Men from all around Middle Earth would be traveling to Imladris eager to bottle the infusion.  In any event, the mystery was rekindled.  Was Glorfindel covering for Mithrandir?  Mithrandir covering for Glorfindel?  Was either, or both, covering for Elrond?  Or Elrond covering for one or more of them!?  And where, if at all, did Legolas fit into the puzzle!?  Whatever the case, Gilglîr had to fight the urge to wheel about and gallop back to Rivendell, there to **demand** that his questions be answered.  No, he would simply have to concede that he had been bested by the Elves of Imladris, who had tongues as honeyed as if they had been dipping into Beorn's larder.

"Still," Gilglîr mused as he rode on by the side of Tawarmaenas, "this trip has not been a total loss.  Only look at how much Tawarmaenas has grown in stature in the eyes of his folk.  The warriors for the most part now take their commands from him.  More and more I am the advisor rather than the guardian.  No, I cannot rue the decision to make this journey, even if the outcome was not altogether to my liking.  Moreover, Tawarmaenas and I have learned nothing to put an end to the hope that Legolas still lives; indeed, we have learned somewhat that confirms us in that belief."

Yes, Gilglîr thought with increasing confidence, he would continue to trust that Legolas dwelled somewhere in Middle Earth.  It was only a pity that he could not share that conviction with Thranduil.  But that day would come, he was sure.  That day would come.   


	18. An Encounter In The Garden

_Melissa: _Great!  Now I can feel guilty for distracting you from your homework.  And I'm an educator, too, and should know better!  ^_^   (Writer huddles into a ball and whimpers.)

_Kitsune__: _Things will turn out alright for Gilglîr, I promise.

_Joee__: _As you can see from today's posting, the previous chapter was not in fact the final one.  Enjoy! (Hope you don't have any papers due tomorrow!)

_Dragonfly: _Yep, author alerts are handy—when they work, of course.  (Writer sneakily introduces doubt into mind of reader.  Mwah hah hah!  ^_^  Good thing I'm not into BDSM narratives.  I'd probably be really good at writing those—twisted, but good.)  BTW, glad you liked the return of Haldir!

_Farflung__: _In terms of timeline, we're only roughly half a century away from the LOTR, so the reunion has to take place pronto so I can put Legolas into position for his role in that story.  Aren't I nice to Professor Tolkien, to let him have his Elf back in time for him to use him in the trilogy!?

_Karri: _The worst is over for Gilglîr, so he is going to survive with sanity intact.

The Greenwood Elves returned without incident to their homeland, stopping along the way in Lothlórien, where Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin bade Tawarmaenas a fond farewell.

"Now that you know the way to Lórien, Tawarmaenas, we expect to see you frequently," declared Rúmil.  "It is getting rather hard to put anything over Haldir," he teased, "so I need you to practice on, lest my skills wane."

"Ah," said Tawarmaenas loftily, "I think you will find that I am no longer so easy a target, now I have seen the world!"

That led to a general shout of merriment.  The Lórien brothers were convinced that, so sweet was Tawarmaenas in temperament, it would always be possible to twit him a trifle.  Even Haldir could not forbear telling Tawarmaenas outrageous tales for the fun of seeing the young Elf's earnest reaction, so like his own not so many years back.

As soon as the Greenwood Elves had departed the land of Lóthlorien, they heard the sound of hoofbeats and soon perceived that Beorn's horses had once again taken up protective positions around them.  Perhaps this was not strictly necessary, for, after the defeat of the Orcs in the Misty Mountains, Orc activity everywhere, even on the plain, had plummeted.  Still, the Elves were grateful for the escort.  Whilst they were guarded by Beorn's servants, they did not even feel the need to set watches at night.  Everyone slept long and deeply and awoke refreshed the next day, often to the sight of bread and honey that had somehow materialized during the night. 

Messengers had been sent ahead to inform Thranduil of their progress, and so delighted was he at their imminent return that he decided to shorten the wait before the reunion by venturing out onto the plain himself.  Thus it was that, even before the travelers had caught sight of the first outlying trees of their homeland, they saw the King's banner approaching, and behind it, the King himself.

"Mae govannen!" beamed Thranduil. "Mae govannen!  The Great Hall has been much too quiet these past months.  Gilglîr, I have missed your counsel, and Tawarmaenas, I have missed your questions."

Gilglîr laughed.  "You may be sure that the Great Hall will be even noisier than before, mellon-nîn.  I will still offer my counsel, and Tawarmaenas will still ask his questions, but I believe you may now also count on receiving advice from Tawarmaenas.  He has grown both bold and wise."

Tawarmaenas blushed at the praise, but in his heart he knew that there was some merit in Gilglîr's words, however exaggerated.

Once back at the Great Hall, King Thranduil declared that several days of festivities would be held.  More Elves gathered than had ever been seen before at the Great Hall, so many that not all could be accommodated within, and Tawarmaenas, who was set in charge of housing the guests, caused pavilions to be raised for the overflow.  As the pavilions were very well appointed, no one minded or felt slighted.

What with the feasting and singing and dancing and story-telling, it was several days before Gilglîr had an opportunity to sit privately with Thranduil to inform him of the outcome of the various negotiations that had been an adjunct to Tawarmaenas' journey.  At last the subject of Rivendell came up.  Gilglîr and Thranduil stood over a table, a copy of the revised treaty spread out before them.  Thranduil nodded approvingly.

"These terms are very generous.  I am surprised that Elrond did not try to drive a harder bargain."

"Yes, he was most agreeable.  I, too, did not expect him to be so accommodating."

"I wonder what has motivated such generosity on his part," mused Thranduil.

"Perhaps he had no ulterior motives.  Perhaps he simply seeks no advantage for himself."

"Perhaps.  He has a reputation for kindness, witness the fosterlings he has taken in from time to time.  Ah, that puts me in mind of something. Whilst you were in Rivendell, did you perchance see Durrandîr, that young Elf who put himself in peril in order to aid us when we were ambushed during the siege of Dol Guldur?"

Gilglîr shook his head.

"No, it does not appear that Durrandîr dwells in Rivendell; indeed, it is not clear that he ever did so."

"Ah, pity.  I should have liked to know how he was getting on."

Gilglîr did not mention the name 'Anomen' to Thranduil.  He had no reason to do so.  Nor did he mention Estel.  Presumably Thranduil would have had no interest in the fact that Elrond was fostering a little human.  The conversation turned to other matters.

Over the next several months, only two things could dampen Thranduil's joy at the return of Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas.  First, after briefly lying low for a time after their defeat in the Misty Mountains, the Orcs reappeared, and in greater numbers.  Forces must have been sent in from elsewhere, for suddenly all the elven realms were being assailed.  The worst blows fell upon Lothlórien and Mirkwood, but even Imladris was assailed.  No doubt the recent victory, since it had taken place on the Imladris side of the mountain, was responsible for the fact that Rivendell was not struck as hard as the other two realms.  But for Lothlórien and Mirkwood, and particularly for the latter, things began to go ill. 

Second, from time to time Thranduil would suffer a resurgence of guilt and grief over the death of his son.  When that happened, both Tawarmaenas and Gilglîr wished that they could share with the King their belief that Legolas still lived, but they dared not without fuller proof.

So it was that one day Thranduil once more sat in the silent room that had been Laiqua's. "Had I kept my son by my side," he reproached himself yet again, "he never would have wandered alone into that perilous place." Thranduil shuddered at the thought of Laiqua's final minutes in the grip of that web. "I was no father to my son," he murmured to himself.

"My Lord." Gilglîr stood in the doorway.

Thranduil looked up in resignation. Gilglîr would never disturb him here unless something was seriously wrong. "Yes, Gilglîr."

"My Lord, a major attack has taken place on the southern border. Both Orcs and Wargs. The enemy has been driven off, but if they return, I am not sure that the defenses will hold. I am afraid, my lord, I hesitate to say this, but I am afraid**….**"

"Yes, Gilglîr, I know. We can no longer stand alone, and the Galadhrim of Lothlórien are already so beset by foes that they cannot afford us any aid. Now we must put aside pride and beg Imladris for help instead. I do not like the thought of being put in such a situation, but the only responsible course is to acknowledge that we cannot defeat this enemy on our own. Daily the darkness grows stronger; hourly our numbers shrink."

"My Lord, I shall prepare a company to ride out tomorrow. If you will permit, I would like to take part in the embassy."

"No, Gilglîr. I need you to stay here and advise Tawarmaenas in the maintenance of the defenses. I myself will head the delegation. No, do not look so shocked. I owe Elrond some return for the kindness that he has shown us.  Moreover, it is my duty to appeal for his aid in a situation as dire as this one. My presence will signal to him the seriousness of our plight. Confronted by that fact, he will not turn down our appeal for help. Elrond is an honorable man."

The company of Greenwood Elves rode fast, scarcely pausing to rest the horses and not bothering to send a messenger ahead to announce their coming. So it was that the Rivendell Elves knew of their approach only hours before their arrival, and knew their identity not at all. The Imladris outriders would be able to alert Elrond to the approach of a band of strange Elves but of naught else.

As the Greenwood Elves were nearing the gates of Rivendell, Elrond was in his study wondering how it was that his three eldest sons could still be capable of wreaking so much havoc. One minute they would be serious, capable warriors; the next minute they would be hellions.  It had been centuries since they had been numbered amongst the elflings, but sometimes it seemed their capacity for discovering new forms of mischief remained unabated. Elrond remembered back to the time—it must have been a millennium ago—that Mithrandir had suggested that a father must sometimes abandon all semblance of refinement and grace. Perhaps this would be one of those times. He glared at Elrohir, Elladan, and Anomen as they stood before him lamely attempting to explain their latest escapade, which involved a midnight visit to the stables and the release of most of the horses. But before Elrond could speak, Glorfindel strode in to inform him that a company of Elves, riding hard, was rapidly approaching. The eyes of the younger Elves lit up. Elrond would be necessarily distracted, perhaps long enough to forget the damage that had been done to the stables. Moreover, no visitors had arrived in the several months since Mithrandir's latest departure for Lothlórien. Visitors meant news at the very least and perhaps additional diversions, such as feasts and other forms of merriment.

Elrond nodded to dismiss his sons, who jostled each other in their haste to get through the door. Laughing, they raced into the courtyard to await the arrival of the strangers. Within minutes they heard the galloping of horses, and the contingent of foreign Elves swept through the gate.

Their hair is golden, thought Anomen. Their hair is golden, and, oh, by the Valar, they are dressed in green tunics and brown leggings. Mirkwood Elves. He froze for a moment in disbelief and then bolted from the courtyard, leaving behind alarmed twins who knew perfectly well the reason for his sudden departure and hastened forward to cover for him.

Elrond walked out into the courtyard to greet the company of strange Elves. When he saw their garb, he blanched and drew Glorfindel aside. He was still resolved not to force Anomen back to Mirkwood.  "Glorfindel," he whispered, "you must find Anomen at once. He must not be seen by these Elves. He must keep to his room. Have his meals brought to him." 

Glorfindel nodded and slipped away.  Elrond then strode forward to welcome the visitors.  To his additional horror, he now realized that one of them was Thranduil.  Elves are not known to sweat, but Elrond was after all half-elven, and his human heritage now came to the fore.  Had Thranduil not been preoccupied with the peril that confronted his kingdom, no doubt he would have been perplexed by the beads of moisture that adorned Elrond's forehead and upper lip.

"Yes, yes," Elrond was agreeing. "We will come to your aid. Indeed, Thranduil, we will come at once. I shall assemble a company that will set out with you at daybreak tomorrow. I myself shall accompany you, and Glorfindel will follow with other warriors within the week, as soon as an additional group of riders can be assembled."

Thranduil was bewildered. He had not expected Elrond to be so obliging or to agree to take action so promptly. Why the eagerness and haste?

That night Thranduil found himself unable to sleep. He could not overcome his confusion over the reception he had received from Elrond. Something was not right; of that he was sure, but to what could he point to justify such a belief? He had asked Elrond for help; Elrond had agreed to provide it, and to do without delay. "So why," thought Thranduil, "am I so troubled?" At last, Thranduil gave up all attempts at sleep. He arose and went out into the garden.

Anomen crouched in a tree. It seemed to him that during his life he had spent an inordinate amount of time crouching in trees. At least he wasn't hiding from Orcs this time. Instead, he had watched Elrohir and Elladan searching for him. He had seen Glorfindel join in the hunt. At last he had heard even little Estel calling for him. But he had remained hidden. He knew that both Elrond and Mithrandir thought that he should reveal himself as the Prince of Greenwood, and he feared that Elrond would use this occasion to force his hand.  Surely he was being sought so that he might be told that his attendance was expected at a dinner in honor of the visiting Elves. But he would never attend such a dinner. He had no wish to run the risk of being recognized as the son Thranduil had never found worthy of a name. He sighed and shifted in the tree. Wood-Elf or not, he could not remain in this tree forever. He was beginning to feel stiff, and by the Valar, but he was hungry! Surely everyone had gone to their rest by now. Perhaps he could risk venturing into the kitchen for something to eat. Silently Anomen slid down from the tree and crept across the garden toward the kitchen entrance. Stealing around a statue of Gil-galad, he came face to face with—Thranduil.

Thranduil wondered whether he had in fact fallen asleep and was dreaming that he was walking in a garden. He was staring at a golden-haired Elf, a golden-haired Elf who looked like—but, no, that was impossible! Thranduil reached forward to touch the Elf, to see whether he were an illusion. But the young Elf vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

The next morning Thranduil stormed into Elrond's room before the Elf lord had even arisen from his bed. Elrond raised both eyebrows, of course, but he did not feel that his eyebrows were sufficient to express either his bafflement or his displeasure. For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether he should begin to work on wiggling his ears, but he dismissed the thought. Somehow wiggling ears would never be as impressive as raised eyebrows.

Thranduil dispensed with all preliminaries.

"Elrond, who is the golden-haired Elf!?"

Elrond thought quickly.

"Golden-haired Elf?  Perhaps Haldir? He often visits Elrohir and Elladan."

"I have met Haldir in Lothlórien. This was not Haldir. And Haldir is at least a millennium older than this Elf."

"How old do you judge this Elf to be?"

"A little over a millennium, I think."

"Hmm, well, he could be one of my sons."

"One of your sons!? But your sons have dark hair!"

"Not all of them. Estel will have lighter hair than the twins, I think. Anomen, too, has lighter hair."

"Estel!? Anomen!? How many sons do you have, Elrond!?"

"Four, at the moment."

"But I have only heard of the twins! When were these other two born?"

Elrond hesitated. "Actually, Estel and Anomen are foster sons.

Thranduil glowered at Elrond. "I want to meet these foster sons."

"Yes, of course. After we have driven the evil from your realm, you shall have the opportunity to become acquainted with every member of my family."

"Elrond, I-want-to-meet-these-foster-sons-today."

"Thranduil, Estel is a human child, and he is still quite young. He is not your golden-haired Elf. And, well, yes, Anomen is an Elf, and he does have golden hair. You may have known Anomen at one time. When he was very young, he probably lived in Greenwood. But are you sure that you wish to see him? He may have displeased you at some point, and so I have tried to keep him out of your sight. I feared you might have been angered had you known that I gave refuge to him."

"How long ago was it that you took him in?"

Elrond could not lie in answer to such a direct question.

"About a millennium ago."

"A millennium ago!"

Elrond gazed anxiously at the Mirkwood King: "Thranduil! Law no le mae! You look ill!"

Thranduil shook his head. "I am not ill. Elrond, how is it that the Elf—Anomen did you say—came to be here?"

"Mithrandir brought him to me. He found him alone in the forest of Imladris." Added Elrond carefully, "He appeared to have no family."

"No family?"

"Yes, he seemed to have no father."

"And what of his mother?"

Elrond hesitated before answering.

"She died giving birth to him."

Thranduil moaned and dropped his head into his hands. After a long moment had passed, he looked up at Elrond: "I **must** see this Elf."

"Thranduil, I love him as a son. Do you swear that he will come to no harm?"

"I swear."

The Greenwood Elves, accompanied by a large troop of Rivendell warriors, left that morning as planned, but the Imladris Elves were led by Berenmaethor rather than Elrond. Thranduil, too, was remaining behind, having entrusted Berenmaethor with letters of instruction for both Tawarmaenas and Gilglîr.

Once the warriors had departed, Elrond set about searching for Anomen. Knowing his foster son's penchant for hiding in trees, he began to systematically walk from tree to tree, peering up carefully into the branches. Finally his efforts were rewarded. Dozing, the young Elf lay curled in the crotch of an oak tree. Judging from the state of his clothes and hair, he had been there for much of the night. Silently, Elrond climbed up the tree and sat down on a branch near Anomen.

"Anomen, ion-nîn, wake up."

Anomen's eyes came into focus.  He stared worriedly at Elrond.

"Anomen, guests have arrived from Mirkwood."

"I know, Ada."

"One of them is Thranduil."

Anomen's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat.

"He wishes to see you."

Anomen tried to be disingenuous. 

"Why would Thranduil wish to see _me_?"

Elrond tried to be disingenuous in turn.

"I do not know," he began to say, but then he stopped.

 "He thinks he is your father, Anomen," he said softly.  "Is he?"

"I do not know," Anomen replied unhappily.

"Would it not be good if you were to find out?"

"I am happy here."

"No one can force you to return to Mirkwood if that is not your wish.  What harm, then, would there be in meeting him?  He may prove to be your father."

"But what if he is not—I mean, not _truly_?"

"Would your situation be any more painful than it is now?  I think, though, that if he is your father, he will _truly_ be your father.  I have never seen an Elf as desirous of anything as he is to see you. I think, ion-nîn, we had best humor him."

"He is anxious to see me," Anomen muttered, more to himself than to Elrond. Aloud he said, "And he does not seem at all angry, Ada?"

"No, not angry, merely eager."

Anomen considered for awhile, then nodded his head: "Very well, Ada, I will let him see me.  Although," he added, a trifle bitterly, "I do not know why he _now _would wish to do so!"

"Oh, I think that you do," Elrond replied evenly.

Torn between longing and reluctance, Anomen followed Elrond to the Hall of Fire.  At the door to that chamber, Elrond stayed him a moment.  He brushed the leaves from Anomen's hair and straightened his tunic.

"Now you look more like yourself!"

"Whoever that may be," quipped Anomen.  Then he sighed.  "Ada, I do not speak entirely in jest."

Elrond nodded.

"Yes.  It is a serious matter, deciding who you are.  But remember this: any father would be proud to claim you as his son.  In the end, that is in truth who you are—no matter your name, you are a person whose worth is recognized by all who know you as I do."

Elrond gestured for Anomen to go forward, and alone he entered the Hall of Fire to face the King of Mirkwood.

Thranduil reached out a hand, palm up, toward the young Elf. "Ion-nîn," the king murmured.

"No," said Anomen. "Elrond is my father."

"But you are my son," said Thranduil. "I am the one who sired you."

"Nevertheless, it is Elrond who is my father. You were no father to me."

Thranduil flinched with grief and shame. He knew that his son spoke the truth.

"Legolas, please!" begged the king.

"Legolas?"

"Surely you have not forgotten your name?"

"My name is Anom—my name was Laiqua."

"Yes, of course, Laiqua. You were named Laiqualassë in the High-Elven. Your nursemaid nicknamed you Laiqua. I had no objection. It is common for children to bear nicknames. But did you never know your true name? It was picked for you by your mother and me a few weeks before your birth. Greenleaf it means." 

Anomen stared at Thranduil.  His father had gifted him with a name?  He was not 'No one'?

"'Twas I who devised the name," Thranduil continued, "but my choice pleased your mother.  As her name was Laurëlassë, 'Golden Leaf', your name was to be Laiqualassë, 'Green Leaf'.  Legolas for everyday use, of course." 

When at last he spoke, Anomen's voice shook.

"You never addressed me as Legolas."

Thranduil grimaced. "I'm not sure I ever addressed you as Laiqua, either."

Laiqua smiled sadly. "You may be right. I do not think you ever addressed me by any name at all."

Thranduil could not look at his son. Softly he spoke. "I would call you Legolas now, if you would permit me."

Laiqua stood silent for awhile. Then he answered. "Laiqua is a child's name, and Anomen is no name at all. Yes, I would like it if you would address me as Legolas."

Thranduil looked up hopefully. "I would ask of you one more boon. Legolas, I know that Elrond has been a father to you, and I do not ask you to think of him in any other way. I am grateful for the care that he accorded you during all those long years when I thought you had perished in the web of a spider. But will you not visit me in Greenwood from time to time? I would like to know you, ion-nîn. Perhaps in time I could become like another father to you?"

"I already have a father," thought Legolas.  "Indeed, where once I had no father at all, I now have many fathers.  Do I want Thranduil to be numbered amongst them?"

Legolas walked toward a window and gazed out at the gardens of Imladris.  Thranduil had named him.  Thranduil had wept for him.  And now he did not ask so much of him—only to visit him in Mirkwood and mayhap one day to look upon him as one father among many.  After a long pause, Legolas nodded. "I will journey to Greenwood on occasion."

Thranduil nodded, grateful for this small concession.  He had no intention of demanding anything of his son, for he knew that he had forfeited the right to do so.

Something suddenly occurred to Legolas.

"You will call me 'Legolas'," said the young Elf.  "What am I to call you?"

"What you will.  Thranduil, perhaps.  Your King.  Your kinsman.  Anything.  Nothing."

"You are my Adar," said Legolas, "but you have not been not my Ada.  I will call you Adar-nîn."

Thranduil was overjoyed and did not tried to hide it.

"Would you!?" he exclaimed.  "I should like that very much!  It is more than I deserve!"

Legolas was taken aback by Thranduil's openness and his eager yearning for his son's love and approval.  This was not the father he had known in Mirkwood.  Tentatively, he smiled at the older Elf.  Thranduil beamed back at him.  Suddenly, Legolas laughed and blushed.

"I have not broken fast yet today," he said apologetically.  "My pardon for the loud sounds that my stomach made just then."

"I have not eaten either.  Mayhap we could prevail upon your father's Cook to allow us a little food to eat in the garden.  Your cousin Tawarmaenas likes gardens.  Do you as well?"

"Oh, yes, I like gardens, and I have spent a great deal of time in them—although not always by choice or design," Legolas added ruefully.

"It sounds as if there is a tale or two behind those words."

"Which I shall tell you over breakfast.  First, I will ask my Ada if he would beg the Cook to allow us somewhat to eat and drink."

"You yourself cannot ask?"

"I could—if I wanted potatoes thrown at my head."

"Another tale?"

"Yes, and a long one, too, covering several centuries of warfare between hungry elflings and vigilant cooks."

"Did you win any skirmishes?"

"Many, I assure you.  My exploits within the kitchen are well known throughout Imladris."

They had by then reached Elrond's chamber, and Legolas knocked.

"Enter," came the familiar voice.

Thranduil and Legolas walked into the chamber side by side.  Elrond sat in the company of Erestor and Glorfindel.  Each Elf held a half-empty wine goblet.

"Wine so early in the morning?" said Thranduil enquiringly.  Legolas, too, thought this a peculiar state of affairs.

"For my health, Thranduil."

"Oh, indeed," replied the King of Mirkwood, his voice laden with amusement.

"Ada," said Legolas.  "Would you ask that some food and drink be sent to the garden.  My, uh, my Adar-nîn and I wish to break our fast in that place so that we may talk a little."

"Very well, Anomen, I will see that the Cook is so instructed."

"Legolas, Ada.  Ah, if you don't mind, that is," Anomen added hastily.

Elrond smiled reassuringly.  "Legolas, I have long wished to call you by that name rather than by 'No Name'."

Legolas felt a sudden surge of relief.  He did not want to lose the love of one Ada in exchange for the affection of one whom he barely knew.  He suddenly understood that this had been one of his many fears, but one he had never been able to put into words.

Elrond continued, "Legolas, food and drink will shortly be carried out to the garden so that you and your Adar may break fast in private.  No doubt you have much to say to one another."

"Thank you, Ada."

"You are welcome, Legolas."

After Thranduil and Legolas had left Elrond's chamber, that lord let out a sigh and held out his glass to Glorfindel.

"Mellon-nîn, more wine, if you please."

"Elrond," said Erestor reprovingly.  "You were already on your second glass."

"I think," interjected Glorfindel, "that on this occasion, Elrond may be permitted a third glass."

"Or a fourth, or a fifth," muttered Elrond.

Far away, in Lothlórien, Gandalf smiled as he gazed in Galadriel's mirror. "Mithrandir," Galadriel said quietly, "I know what it is you saw, for it is also in my mind. I fear that your wardship of the prince has come to an end. You of course have known all along that he was Thranduil's son."

"I suspected as much when I heard that the prince of Greenwood had disappeared in the selfsame year that I encountered a golden-haired Elfling in the woods of Imladris. Moreover, I had seen the prince once long before in Greenwood, and Anomen did remind me of him."

"Yet you chose not to send word to King Thranduil?"

"Nor did you, my Lady!"

Galadriel smiled and inclined her head in acknowledgment.

"Thranduil," Gandalf continued, "had to fully understand the value of what he had lost, and Legolas needed the opportunity to heal. It seemed best to wait. These things take time, something that you, an immortal Elf, must surely appreciate."

"Ah, Mithrandir, ever the patient one, but then patience is a quality that will soon serve you well, I perceive."

"Soon? You are an Elf—for you 'soon' may be hundreds of years in the future.  But what do you foresee, my Lady?"

"My own counsel shall I keep for the time being, Mithrandir, for the future is obscure even to the wise."

Gandalf feigned surprise. "Indeed, my Lady? Is that so?" 

Galadriel looked archly at him but continued. "I will tell you this: One day your path shall again be intertwined with that of your Elf."

"That does not seem too fearful a prospect."

"It will depend on the path, Mithrandir." 

"Yes," replied Gandalf, "Yes. I suppose it will." He bowed slightly and turned to walk toward the edge of the glade. As he did so, Galadriel looked once more into her mirror. Again she saw Legolas, but this time he was alone. He was looking over his shoulder with a guarded expression upon his face. Then ripples spread across the water, and a new image of Legolas arose. He was standing against a rocky backdrop, his face streaked with dirt. His expression—Galadriel drew a sharp breath. His expression was one of loss and disbelief. Galadriel raised her head and began to call Gandalf back. But as she did so, she realized that she did not know whether she was seeing something from the past or from the future. If the past, nothing she did or said could change matters. If the future, even then, any attempt to evade or change events might miscarry. A worse outcome might ensue than the one they attempted to avoid. No, she would not reveal this image to Mithrandir; nor would she counsel him regarding it. She did not fear to meddle in the affairs of Wizards, but she was mindful of the teaching of the Eldar: _Advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill_.

"My Lady?" Gandalf was looking at her quizzically.

"Only this: Stay well, my friend."

Gandalf locked his eyes with hers, as if he for once were the one trying to read her mind. Whatever he saw—if he saw anything—his face did not reveal. Instead, after a moment he simply nodded.

"I will certainly do my best, my Lady." And then he was gone.


	19. Confronting Elrond

Thanks to the following for reviewing the previous chapter: _Konzen__,_ _Kim, Farflung, Arwen Undomiel, Kitsune, Melissa, Jebb, Joee, Daw the Minstrel, _and _Dragonfly.  _And a general thanks to all those who have reviewed one or more of the earlier chapters!  As for those who have asked that the series continue, fear not.  I cannot stop now, for I, too, am anxious to see how things will turn out.  And, so, on to the next installment.

"So Legolas leaves for Mirkwood at the turning of the moon," said Elrohir quietly.

"Yes, Elrohir.  You and Elladan are relieved from patrol duty for the time being, as I know you will want to spend all your time with your brother."

"He is still our brother, Ada?" asked Elladan.

"Of course.  And he will not be always in Mirkwood.  Nor will you be always in Rivendell.  You will see him from time to time."

"But not as often as if he were to remain here," Elladan pointed out.

"Perhaps not.  But you would be seeing less of him in the future regardless, for you would have had your responsibilities, he his."

Elrohir and Elldan had to concede that this was at least in part true.  

"I know I should be happy for him, Ada," said Elladan slowly.  "I think I _am_ happy for him.  But I cannot help but be sad at the same time."

"Your feelings mirror my own, ion-nîn.  I would like nothing better than for things to remain as they are, for Legolas to remain forever with us.  But it has always been so, and will always be so: One is sometimes called upon to give things up, lose them, so that others may keep them" (Bk 6, ch. 9).  

The twins arose to take their leave.  Elrond raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"Elladan, Elrohir, why do you arise as if you mean to escape my chamber?"

"There is something more that you wish to tell us, Ada?" said Elrohir.

"Yes."

Elrond gestured for the twins to resume their seats.

"Thranduil and I have agreed that in this time of peril the ties between our two realms, as well as between Lothlórien and our respective lands, should be strengthened.  Messengers will be traveling much more frequently between the various realms than they have been formerly.  I have been given much consideration to this matter, for I wish the messengers who journey hence to Mirkwood to be none but the most fitted to convey my mind to the King.  And it seems to me that no one could be more suited to do so than my own sons."

"Thank you, Ada," exclaimed Elladan and Elrohir, in a chorus, predictably enough.

The twins leapt joyfully to their feet, knowing that they would see Legolas more often than they had assumed.  Again their father raised his eyebrows.

"So eager to leave?"

The twins blushed and subsided into their chairs once again.

"There is yet one more matter needs discussing.  Legolas must be given a suitable escort on his return to Mirkwood, and I had thought—"

"Thank you, Ada!" exclaimed Elrohir, in his excitement yet again leaping to his feet.  Elladan could only grin.

"Well," said Elrond, making a show of being acerbic, "if you are going to cavort about like an elfing, I may have to reconsider!"

"_I _am not cavorting about like an elfling," Elladan hastened to say, winning himself an indignant look from his brother, who had meekly returned to his seat..

Elrond smiled.

"I know how much you dread the leave-taking of Legolas," he said gently.  "These are but the few small gestures within my power that I hope will ease the parting, both on your side and his.  Yet part you must."

The twins nodded.

"Thank you, Ada," said Elrohir softly.   Suddenly he arose, but not in order to leave the chamber.  Instead, he leaned over his father, taking his face between his hands and kissing his forehead.  "Thank you, Ada," he said again.  Then he released his father's face and stood looking down upon him.

"You have ever done the best you could by us and by all those who have sheltered under your roof, often at great cost to yourself.  I know that not one of us feels the pain of Legolas' impending departure any more keenly than you.  Would that you yourself could escort Legolas to Mirkwood and carry messages back and forth between the two realms."

Elrond gazed up at Elrohir and could think of nothing to say that would be worthy of the gift that his son had just given him.  After a moment, Elrohir laughed, but fondly.

"Elladan, I do believe that I have succeeded in rendering our father speechless, something that not a one of our pranks ever brought to pass.  We shall have to try kissing and complimenting him more often."

"Aye," joined in Elladan.  "Now why did we not think of this strategy a few centuries back?  'Twould have saved us many a lecture."

"I have got my voice back," said Elrond, entering into the raillery.  "Begone, scamps, before I find something to say with it."

Much happier than when they had entered Elrond's chamber, the twins took their leave and went off in search of Legolas so that they might take advantage of every last minute that remained to them together in Imladris.

After they had left, Glorfindel knocked upon the door.

"Elrond, Thranduil has requested that he have a private conversation with you.  He wishes no others to be present."

Elrond could not help but wince.  He had known this meeting would be coming, and he dreaded it more than he had the interview with Gilglîr.  He had harbored Thranduil's son for a millennium, and Thranduil knew perfectly well that he had not been unaware of the identity of the elfling whom he had sheltered.  Glorfindel looked at him sympathetically.

"If you like, I could stay close by, just outside the door, in case, well, in case you need me."

Elrond laughed in spite of himself.

"I doubt Thranduil will come at me with a sword, Glorfindel.  No, his words shall cut sharply enough, I am sure.  Do not trouble yourself.  Escort Thranduil hither with all honor and then retire, if you please."

"And if I do not please?"

"Glorfindel, you know that is only a manner of speaking!"

"Ah, so, in other words, bring Thranduil here and then make myself scarce."

"Yes, if you prefer to put it that way!"

"As you wish, my Lord," declaimed Glorfindel, giving an exaggerated bow.  With that he left to call upon Thranduil, leaving Elrond, like the twins, in much improved spirits.  Glorfindel had ever been crafty in his own way.

So it was that when Elrond heard the knock upon his door he arose to welcome Thranduil with much more equanimity of spirit than he had dreamed possible.

"My Lord Thranduil," he said, inclining his head, "you are very welcome."

"Thank you, Elrond," replied the King, "and I mean no disrespect by addressing you so.  Pray dispense with the formalities and call me naught but 'Thranduil'.  After all," he added, smiling, "we are all but kin, having as we do a son in common."

Astonished, Elrond let his mouth fall open.  Whatever he had expected, he was not prepared for _this_.  Fortunately, Erestor was not there to see this grievous error in deportment, else Elrond would have been hearing about it for several centuries to come.  As for Thranduil, he let Elrond's befuddled expression pass without comment, having no mind to add to a situation that was already fraught with tension.  Moreover, he had more than a little inkling of the sorrow that Elrond feared he was about to experience.  Thranduil knew what it was to lose a son.

"Elrond, you have perhaps been wondering what I have been thinking since learning that my son has been alive for the past millennium and living in Imladris as _your_ son."

Elrond, having just managed to draw his lips together, answered with only a nod.

"Part of me," Thranduil continued, "desires to proclaim that you have done me an injustice by hiding my son from me.  But the part of me that desires to be honest knows that I would do _you_ an injustice if I gave way to such feelings."

Thranduil hesitated.  The next sentences were going to be hard.

"Had I immediately regained my son, I would have rejoiced—but I would have done no better by him than I had formerly.  It is only lately that I have developed both the wit and the ability to be a father to my son.  In the meantime, I have no doubt that he was much better off with you."

Elrond exhaled, not having realized that he had been holding his breath.  Thranduil looked expectantly at him.  Elrond took in another breath, this time in prepare himself to speak.

"Thranduil, I thank you for not holding against me the fact that I understood it was your son whom I harbored, even though I pretended both to myself and to others that I knew not his name."

"I am sure," said Thranduil, with wry mirth, "that you were very careful never to be certain of his true identity."

Elrond conceded that this was true.

"I am also sure that you had a great deal of help.  Legolas tells me that it was Mithrandir, who knew the Prince of Greenwood by sight, who escorted him on the final stage of his journey when he first came to Imladris."

"Yes, that is so."

"He also tells me that he has been to Lothlórien several times.  On those occasions he was in the presence of the Lady Galadriel.  Shall we say that the Lady proved to be remarkably unenlightened as to his identity?"

"Yes," smiled Elrond, "let us say that.  Mayhap her Mirror was cloudy at the time."

Thranduil smiled too, but a little sadly.

"You must have thought me a dreadful father to have all joined together in this unspoken compact to protect my son."

"Thranduil, at length we began to hear news of you that suggested it would be good for Legolas to return.  But your fitness was not the only matter that had to be addressed.  Both of you needed to be ready, and Legolas was not.  Indeed, I feared that he might refuse to meet with you this time as well."

Thranduil nodded.

"Yes, Legolas made that clear to me even as we spoke in the Hall of Fire, and he has since said more on that subject.  You were not trying to prevent him from rejoining me; indeed, you were encouraging our reunion more than discouraging it.  What would you have done if he had outright refused to speak with me?"

Elrond hesitated, but knew only the truth would serve.

"Thranduil, I would not have forced him.  I had long ago resolved that the choice to return to you would be his and his alone."

Thranduil nodded.

"As was only proper.  He has long been of age.  Moreover, he would have been my 'son' in name only had he been dragged unwilling back to Greenwood.  Nor would he ever come to view me as his father, as I am in hopes that he someday will."

"Yes," said Elrond, suddenly somber.  "He will indeed come to view you as his father."

Thranduil looked keenly at Elrond.

"My friend, you must not fear that he will love you the less or view you as anything other than his Ada!  It is plain to me that he views Mithrandir as a father as well.  Did you feel threatened by his affection for the wizard?

"No."

"Then, too, he has a great fondness for Glorfindel.  Did you feel that his love for the balrog-slayer threatened his love for you?"

"No."

"Nor his affection for Erestor, I warrant."

Elrond smiled.

"Truly you are ready to be a father, Thranduil, for you know how to offer comfort.  You are right.  Legolas has a great heart; he will find room in it for you, but he will not dispossess those who already dwell within it."

 "Of course," Elrond added, "I cannot help but sorrow at the prospect that he will no longer be with me in Rivendell."

"I am sure he will want to spend time in both Greenwood and Imladris."

"One year in Greenwood and one year in Rivendell?" said Elrond hopefully.

"Elrond," said Thranduil in mock reproof, "would you have our son forever traveling!?  He would no sooner arrive in Rivendell than he would have to set out for Imladris, and vice versa."

Ruefully, Elrond had to admit that this was so.  He also had to concede the next point made by Thranduil.

"Your daughter Arwen has long dwelled with her grandparents in Lothlórien," Thranduil pointed out.  "That is not as far from here as is Greenwood, but, still, although you have visited her and exchange letters, you cannot see her on a daily basis.  Think of the coming departure of Legolas in the same terms.   He is going to live with kin, but you will not be altogether deprived of contact with him."

Laughing, Elrond threw up his arms in a signal of defeat.

"I yield, Thranduil.  I yield!  Come, it must be nigh lunch time.  Let us see what the Cook has prepared for us."

"Whatever it is, I hope Legolas did not have a hand in it.  He told me a most interesting story of a cake he once cooked for Glorfindel and Erestor."

"Ah, yes, the famous bad eggs—_really_ bad eggs."

Glorfindel, who, in spite of his promise to make himself scarce, had been hiding behind a column near Elrond's sanctum, tensed as the door to the chamber swung open.  Out strode Elrond and Thranduil, side by side—and _laughing_.  Glorfindel wrinkled up his face in disbelief.  A millennium of secrecy and plotting, and they were laughing over—no, they couldn't be laughing over_ that_.  This was—this was _anticlimactic_!  Where was the knocked-down-dragged-out battle he had been anticipating?  Where were the accusations, the recriminations, the tears?  This was _it_?  This was how the story would end?

After a few moments he shook his head.  No the story couldn't possibly end here.  With Legolas, nothing could be that simple.  The story was simply going to get more complicated, that was all.

With that happy thought, Glorfindel hastened after the two other Elves.  After all, he reminded himself, it wouldn't do to miss even so much as a minute of the deliciously convoluted events that were sure to unfold in the decades to come.


	20. Stay Well

_Arwen__ Undomiel: _Thank you for your kind posts.  They are definitely motivating!

_Joee__: _Glad you found Glorfindel funny.  Remember how he used to terrify Anomen?  He can't do _that _any more.

_Melissa: _I've corrected that error you pointed out.  Sometimes, though, it takes 24 hours for the corrected version to show up.  Thank you for continuing to respond so helpfully and enthusiastically.  ^_^

_Jebb__: _Yep, that was a certified Johnny Depp sighting.  He just keeps commandeering this series.  But, hey, remember what **Captain** Jack Sparrow leers when Will Turner indignantly declares, "You cheated!"  It was a one word response but to the point**:** "Pirate!"

_Dragonfly: _Thank you for catching those two problems.  Now Glorfindel is the one doing the bowing, and I've sent Berenmaethor to Mirkwood, because, as you will see in today's installment, I really need Glorfindel around.   Thanks for the offer to _beta_, but I think I'm too impatient—the minute I finish an installment, I want to post it!  This does mean that often I have to repost corrected versions, but fortunately it is pretty simple to upload a replacement chapter.

_Konzen__: _There is also some emotion expressed in this chapter.  Hope that helps.

**I"ve**** noticed that sometimes Fanfiction doesn't post the reviews for one chapter until I've posted a subsequent chapter.  So my apologies in advance if someone does not receive a well-deserved acknowledgement for their review.  The review and the posting crossed in cyberspace, and I'll just make sure to acknowledge it at the beginning of the next chapter. **

            The day after Thranduil and Elrond's private meeting, the two were back in Elrond's chamber, but this time accompanied by many others.  Plans were being made for the journey to Greenwood.

            "I suggest," said Glorfindel, who had just received the most recent reports on conditions past the borders of Imladris, "that Thranduil and Legolas do not attempt the crossing of the Misty Mountains."

            "You suggest a southern route, then," said Elrond.

            "Yes.  They will assuredly be unmolested for a very great part of their journey if they travel through Eregion and thence Dunland.  They would pass through the Gap of Rohan, which is still safeguarded by the Rohirrim and then turn north.  Only a short ride would remain from the Gap to Lothlórien, and they can keep to the plain until they are due east of that land.  Orcs would not be able to come upon them without their having ample warning.  Once in Lórien, they can rest, and then I have no doubt but that the Lord and Lady will graciously assign them some of the Galadhrim to augment their forces as they continue north parallel to the Misty Mountains and then make the crossing east to Northern Greenwood."

            Thranduil nodded.

            "I think Glorfindel's counsel is good.  This route will present the fewest dangers."

            "Yes," said Elrond, "and it affords additional benefits.  After you have passed through the Gap of Rohan, you can turn aside for a time and make for Isengard.  You can both rest and gather the latest news, for by the time you have reached the Gap, conditions may have changed.  Elrond and Elrohir will also be able to deliver letters to Saruman.  Gandalf entrusted one to me when he departed for Lothlórien, for he meant to take the route over the Misty Mountains, and I have one that I have lately penned myself."

            This plan pleased everyone but Legolas.

            "I do not want to go to Isengard," he blurted out, then colored as everyone stared at him.

            "Why not, Legolas?" asked Thranduil.

            "Because-because-because-stopping in Isengard would delay my return to Greenwood!"

            Thranduil studied him for a moment before speaking.

            "I did not believe, Legolas, that you were in such a hurry to arrive at the Great Hall.  Mayhap there is another reason?"

Elrond laughed.

"Spoken like a true father, Thranduil, one who senses when a child is not entirely forthcoming."

"I am not a child," said Legolas irritably.

"Then no doubt you can give us a sensible reason for bypassing Isengard when it all but lies upon your path," replied Elrond.

"I do not like Saruman," Legolas replied shortly.

"I said a sensible reason," Elrond repeated patiently.  "After all, you yourself have told me that he desired to adopt you when first you visited Isengard.  From the very beginning he has taken an interest in you."

"I do not want to be adopted by Saruman."

Elrond smiled.

"Legolas, I hardly think Thranduil would permit Saruman to adopt you when he himself is so anxious to father you!"

To this Legolas had no answer, so he made none.  The matter passed, and the southern route was settled upon.

Once preparations began for the journey, Legolas went to see the Head Cook.  This invaluable gentlemen, once he had heard that the young Elf was departing for Mirkwood, had suddenly become very solicitous about his welfare and no longer roared at the sight of him anywhere within a furlong of the kitchen.  Truth be told, the Cook was actually sorry to see Legolas go.  Like everyone, he had grown fond of him over the centuries.  Besides, for all his fulminations over the depredations of wicked elflings, he had actually enjoyed the raids that Legolas and the twins had mounted upon the kitchen.  It was a challenge to see who would outwit whom on any given occasion, and the Cook was not always on the losing side!  Now Legolas would be leaving, and the twins would not often be in Rivendell, for they would be on patrol.  Ai!  The kitchen would be far too quiet over the coming centuries.

            "Master Cook," called Legolas, taking the precaution of stopping at the door and peering cautiously inside.

            "Ah, Anomen—or Prince Legolas, I should say," beamed the Cook.

            "Just Legolas, please.  I am only a prince in Mirkwood."

            "Nay, nay, you will be a prince where'er you be."

"Still, you knew me when I carried myself as anything other than a prince!"

The Cook had to laugh at that.

"Aye, you did not look very princely when you were peeling potatoes and scraping egg and flour from the floor!  But what is it that you desire, Legolas?  Not to cook another cake, I hope!"

            "Oh, no!  Nothing like that!  Merely this: when you are gathering together provisions for my journey, will you set aside as much fresh fruit as you can spare?"

            "Of course!  Of course!  Some traders have just arrived.  I'll buy every apple and pear in their stock, and I'll strip our orchards to boot.  Will that do?"

            "Thank you, Master Cook.  I do not deserve your kindness."

            "Oh, but you do!  You do!  More than you know, I think."

            When Legolas had taken his leave, the Cook sighed mournfully.

            "I must volunteer for one of the patrols, else I shall die of boredom in this kitchen."

            Just then he caught sight of the tousled brown hair of Elrond's remaining foster son as the lad crept underneath a trestle table.

            "Oh ho," the Cook chortled to himself.  "'Tis the little human.  Hungry, as usual, no doubt."

            The Cook had that morning removed several fruit pies from the ovens.  He placed all the now-cooled pies upon a huge wooden tray save one.  That last pie he carried to the trestle table, where he carelessly left it near the edge.  Then he hoisted the tray and left the kitchen to carry the other pies to a storage room.  When he returned, there was no sign of either boy or pie.  The delighted Cook stood at the door to the kitchen and shouted in the direction of the garden, "Pies don't have feet, but I'll warrant I know who does!"

            In the garden, hidden by the ever-useful statue of Gil-galad, Estel grinned as he scooped up another handful of pie and passed it through his berry-smeared lips.  What, he wondered, would be on the menu later that day.  And Legolas, in his room overlooking the garden, smiled in amusement.  It was nice to know that some things would not change.

            But the one thing that would change drew inexorably closer.  At last all was packed, and Legolas would be departing in the morning.  Early on the day before the planned departure, Thranduil knocked upon the door to Elrond's chamber.

            "Enter.  Ah, Thranduil," said Elrond, arising from his seat and inclining his head slightly.  "Please join me," he continued, gesturing toward a chair.

            Thranduil bowed slightly in return and took the seat indicated, the most ornate one in the room.

            "A fine chair, Elrond, very elegant, but I wouldn't object if one day you were to usher me to another one—say, a more comfortable one."

            Elrond chuckled.

            "The price of dignity, my friend."

            "_You _may pay such a price if you wish," retorted Thranduil with a smile, "but I would rather not!"

            "So dignity does not concern you overmuch?  Good.  You are a father now, and you may be sure that Legolas will give you plenty of opportunity to shed your dignity."

            "Yes, I understand that he has had plenty of practice in making you shed _yours_."

            Elrond laughed and leaned back, lacing his hands together behind his head.

            "I cannot deny it, Thranduil.  And I must confess," he added with a wry smile, "that I will miss being periodically stripped of my dignity."

            "Yes, that is why I am here.  No doubt you wish to spend as much time as possible with Legolas today.  Indeed, perhaps you and the twins would prefer to dine privately with him today.  I do not want you to feel that you must mount one last formal dinner on my account.  In fact, since this will be my last day in your beautiful realm, I thought that I would take a walking tour, carrying my supper in a satchel, if this would be agreeable to you."

            Elrond looked gratefully at Thranduil.

            "You are most kind, Thranduil.  I will cherish this day with Legolas and look upon it as a gift from his father."

            "Say rather a gift to his father," replied Thranduil, arising.

            Elrond inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

            Later that day, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas sat quietly together in Elrond's chamber.  Glorfindel and Erestor had dined with them but then excused themselves tactfully, saying that they had tasks to perform.  Both of them had earlier taken private leave of Legolas.

            Glorfindel had tried to be gruff, but Legolas would have none of that.

            "Oh, come now, Glorfindel, after all these centuries you cannot expect me to be fooled by your 'balrog-slayer' manner!"

            "Scamp," growled Glorfindel.  "From beginning to end, a scamp.  I should have skinned you when I had the chance."

            "Do you remember the time I thought you really were going to skin me?"

            "Without a doubt!  You drew on me, and you were shaking so badly that I was sure you would release the arrow inadvertently.  As you were so little, you were aiming right at 'Glorfindel'!  That gave me a very bad moment, I can assure you!"

            They talked on in that fashion for some time longer, but at last, reluctantly, Legolas drew the conversation to a close, for he wanted to spend some time with Erestor as well.  The weapons master and the young Elf stood facing one another.  Suddenly Glorfindel declared, "Oh, Morgoth take it all!" and he flung his arms around Legolas, squeezing so hard that Legolas at last gasped.  When Glorfindel released him, he huffed, "Stay well.  And if you don't," he growled as Legolas reached the door, "I shall skin you!"

            Legolas found Erestor brooding in the library, paging through old scrolls that were filled with the handwriting of his pupil.  He perked up immediately when he saw Legolas.

            "Ah, Legolas, have you come for one last nugget of wisdom?" he smiled.

            "You mean you were holding back on us," teased Legolas.  'I had not thought that possible!"

            Erestor chuckled.

            "I did expatiate at length," he conceded.

            "Oh, yes," agreed Legolas.  "You expatiated, instructed, professed, tutored, lectured."  Legolas paused for a breath before continuing.  "Taught, educated, drilled, and edified. Have I omitted any synonyms?"

            "A few, but none that matter now."

            "Good.  And now, before I go, I wish to demonstrate my mastery of allegory."

            Erestor looked worried.  No one in Imladris had ever forgotten the famous Allegory of the Erection.

            Legolas grinned at Erestor's expression and launched into his story.

            "There was once a cave, or so it seemed to an elfling, for any room was like a cave to him, so much did he love sunshine.  The elfling was trapped in this cave, or so he believed, and he thought mournfully about all the growth that was taking place outside, in the garden.  But one day, as he labored in the cave, he discovered that it too was a place of growth, for he found that mushrooms flourished there, many kinds and all delicious.  And then he remembered all the hidden, dark places of the forest, where grow the ferns and the elf slippers.  Then he knew that not all growth takes place in gardens or in the sunlight, and he rejoiced."

            Erestor did not even try to hide his tears.  Gently he embraced Legolas.

            "You have taught me as well, Legolas, for I have lately been moved to make a study of all the synonyms for 'love'."

            "Are there many?"

            "Even more than for 'teach', I believe."

            "But 'teach' is itself a synonym for 'love'."

            "In this chamber, I hope that was the case."

            "It was," Legolas assured him.  "It was."

            Now Legolas sat in another chamber that was dear to him, Elrond's chamber.  There he had faced reprimands and received praise, both of which he knew to have been necessary.  Often he had been in the company of Elladan and Elrohir, who sat with him now.  They would be accompanying him on his journey, however, so at last they arose and bade him goodnight so that he could spend the evening's last hours alone with Elrond.

            They sat together silently for a long time.  At last Elrond stirred.

            "Ion-nîn," he said softly.

            "Ada," replied Legolas, equally softly.

            That was all they said that night—and it was enough.


	21. A Parting Kiss

**Folks, I had to tie up one more loose end before allowing Legolas to ride out through the gates of Rivendell.**

Thanks to the following reviewers: _Jebb__, Melissa, Farflung, Kim, Lyn, Joee,_ and _Dragonfly_.  Several of you mentioned your forebodings about Isengard.  Ai! Legolas still has no proof of Saruman's perfidy, so the visit will take place.  This will be great for the plot, but not so great for the health of at least one Elf.  Now, having mentioned that, did I also mention that, since Spring Break is drawing to a close, the pace of posting will be slowing considerably?  So, um, it might be awhile before I reveal which Elf is imperiled.  Mwah hah h—_Ooops__! _  (Author ducks as she is bombarded by objects that have come flying out of her computer screen.)

            Breakfast the next day was a subdued affair, taken in the dining hall but before most of the Elves had arisen.  Only Elrond, Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir were present at first, joined after awhile by Glorfindel and Erestor.  Lastly Thranduil arrived and the other Elves of the household filtered in, including those who were to ride in the escort.

            After breakfast, those who were to depart went straight to the stables, where the stable hands had been up since before dawn making ready the horses.  Each rider checked to see that his baggage was securely fastened, and then the horses were led out into the stableyard.  Few other Elves were about, mainly some of the younger ones who had been Legolas' especial friends over the years—Thoron, Baramagor, Celaithand and Celaimîr, Miluithand, Lendsiniath, and Malthenêl and Malthenrî.  Berenmaethor was there as well.

             As Legolas stood in the stableyard waiting for all preparations to be concluded, he thought in particular of his last meeting with one of these friends— Malthenrî.  He had first spoken to her the night of the celebration in the Hall of Fire that was held after the Elves had returned from a victory over the Orcs Malthenrî.  He smiled a little as he remembered how Erestor had helped maneuver them together by suggesting that he fetch her a glass of wine.

After that wondrous night, Malthenrî began to appear in the garden at just about the same time Legolas would go there for a few quiet moments before dinner.  She was so soft-spoken at first that Legolas did not feel she detracted from the peacefulness of that place; and afterward he did not care, for he began hastening to the garden more in hopes of seeing her than in reveling in the serenity of nature.  Sometimes they walked side by side; sometimes they sat upon a bench or upon the grass.  Sometimes they talked; sometimes they did not.  Frequently Legolas found himself taking her hand in his, at first under the guise of drawing her to some plant that he wished her to see, later for no reason at all, other than that he wanted to.

            Unfortunately, at about the same time that Malthenrî began appearing in the garden, so too did Estel.  Legolas bemoaned the ill-fortune that led the little human to suddenly decide that he needed to visit the garden every evening before dinner.  At last he resorted to bribing Estel to betake himself elsewhere.  Surprisingly, it took quite a lot to persuade Estel to do so.  No mere offer of pastries would do.  No, Legolas had to promise to take him swimming, riding, shooting.  It never occurred to Legolas that mayhap Estel proved hard to bribe because he had to be tempted with rewards that would at least match those someone else was simultaneously offering.

            Once Estel had been dispatched, the next vexation proved to be Erestor, who also developed a sudden interest in walking in the garden.  "For my health," he growled when Legolas wondered aloud why he was not in the library.  Ai! There would be no bribing Erestor.  Every evening, soon after Legolas and Malthenrî would arrive, Erestor would materialize and begin stalking the boundaries of the garden as if he were on patrol.  Legolas and Malthenrî tried going earlier to the garden, but it did no good.  And so they walked and talked and held hands, all within view of Erestor, who did not seem to care as long as that was all they did.  Gradually they began to ignore him.

            Two evenings ago, Legolas and Malthenrî had met in the garden for the last time.  They sat silently upon the grass, their legs curled up, facing one another.  Erestor had not yet put in his appearance.  Indeed, he seemed to be a little late in doing so.  Suddenly Malthenrî leaned forward and took Legolas' face between her hands.  Legolas began to bow his head so that she might kiss him upon the forehead.  Instead, she raised his head slightly and pressed her lips upon his.  When Legolas opened his lips in surprise, the kiss suddenly became rather—complicated.  At last, just when Legolas thought that he pass out from want of breath, Malthenrî released him.

"Elrohir said you were bold," gasped Legolas.

            "Bolder than you, apparently," came the laughing reply.  "However long were you going to wait!?"

            "Um, well, we are immortal, so I didn't think there was a hurry."

            "As it turns out, there was, wasn't there?"

            Legolas had to admit that this was true.

            "Now what do we do?" he said helplessly.  "I leave soon for Mirkwood, and I do not know when I shall return."

            "My sister and I sometimes journey to Lothlórien."

            "Yes?"  Legolas looked at her inquiringly.

            She rolled her eyes.

            "I do not know why everyone is always saying that you are wise for your age.  _I_ have seen little of it!  When I am in Lothlórien, surely you can find some excuse to travel thither from Mirkwood."

            Legolas looked a little silly.

            "Oh.  Of course."

            "Haldir has told me that we are welcome to repair to his talan whenever we please."

            "How very kind of him.  We shall be able to talk in private."

            She stared at him in disbelief and shook his head.

            "Truly it is as Elrohir has told me: of some things you are utterly innocent.  Well, as you have said, we are immortal."

            "You have spoken of me to Elrohir?" said Legolas, perplexed.

            "Yes.  In matters such as these, he is the one to consult.  By all accounts, he is not as—inexperienced as you.  But come, I think we have time for one more kiss before your chaperone appears."

            "My chaperone?"

            "Yes.  Have you not noticed that Erestor always comes to walk in the garden shortly after you and I enter it?"

            "I had noticed but thought it a coincidence."

            She shook her head.

            "Erestor is no great lover of gardens, and it was not his custom to take a nightly constitutional.  He would spend all his free time in the library if he could.  No, it is certain that your foster-father has appointed Erestor your guardian in this case, although only after Estel proved to be unreliable.  No doubt Lord Elrond wanted to make sure that nothing untoward occurred whilst you were in his care.  It is because you are a prince, I think, for my sister has told me that Elrohir has no chaperone and never has had one.  Elladan has also been left to his own devices, I hear tell."

            "But why would I be treated differently than the sons of Lord Elrond?"

            "Princes are held to a higher standard, or it may be that their marriages sometimes are of great import to the future of their kingdoms.  At any rate, I am glad that Glorfindel is my uncle, else I should long ago have retired to my chamber to weep in hopeless despair.  You have no idea how many tears Celaimîr and Lendsiniath have shed over you."

            "Celaimîr and Lendsiniath?"

            "Aye, because Celaimîr is the daughter of the Armorer and Lendsiniath is the daughter of the Cook.  Their fathers told them many years ago that you were not to be trifled with.  It was long before they ceased to look like wraiths, so great was their grief."

            "I am sorry," said Legolas.  "I did not know."

            "Oh, do not trouble yourself overmuch.  It took time, but they did recover.  Lendsiniath spent so much time commiserating with Celaimîr that she became well acquainted with Celaimîr's brother, Celaithand.  Now Lendsiniath and Celaithand are inseparable.  As for Celaimîr, Celaithand introduced her to Baramagor, and now those two are likewise inseparable.  So, you see, it all worked out in the end.  But we are wasting our opportunity to kiss!"

             With that Malthenrî leaned forward and seized Legolas, who was still not forward in these matters, but who soon recovered his wits sufficiently so that Elf and Elleth were creatively intertwined when Erestor at last drew near.  The older Elf had to give not one, not two, but three discrete coughs before the younger ones reluctantly untangled their limbs.

            "Good evening, Erestor," said Legolas, his face flushed both from exertion and embarrassment.

            "Apparently so.  You have got quite a bit of grass in your hair.  As does Malthenrî.  You may want to pluck it out before you appear for dinner."

            "That will give them something to do with their hands," Erestor muttered as he commenced his circuit round the garden, one that would keep the younger Elves within his sight all the while.  His instructions from Elrond had always been quite clear.

            As Legolas thought of that evening, he unconsciously touched his fingers to his lips.  Then he caught Elrohir and Elladan grinning at him, and he self-consciously dropped his hands to his sides.

            There were to be no elaborate farewells this morning, for all the partings had taken place the night before.  The escort were all horsed, as was Thranduil.  Legolas took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and mounted his own horse.  He knew, however, that, unseen behind a drape, Elrond stood watching—aye, and probably Glorfindel and Erestor had each found their own curtains behind which to shelter.  He nodded slightly toward the seemingly empty windows and then turned his horse's head toward the gates of Rivendell.  Side by side, he and Thranduil led forth the company. 


	22. A Bush Grows In Stature

_Konzen__: _Thank you!

_Kitsune__: _I figured it would be ironic to have Erestor the 'stick in the mud' be assigned chaperone duty!

_Arwen__ Undomiel: _This chapter is more lighthearted.

_Jebb__: _Unfortunately, Saruman is going to be _very_ evil, although he will use intermediaries, of course.  It will not happen in this chapter but the next.

_Farflung__: _I like that—Legolas must be returned to Thranduil 'unencumbered'.  Yes, that is basically the situation.  Elrond cannot let Legolas promise (let alone 'give'!) himself to anyone without his father at least being told.  It is too major a step when a prince is involved, although a commoner can pretty well do what he pleases.

_Dragonfly: _Might be one of the twins.  Might not.  Might be Legolas.  Might not.  You'll have to wait for the next chapter!  Aren't I sadistic?  ^_^

_Melissa: _I'm still being cruel, I'm afraid, because something will happen in Fangorn Forest, but we won't get there until the next chapter, and I'm not telling.  ^_^   Hey, I've got to give you folks a reason to keep coming back, right?

_Joee__: _You're right.  I've got to fix that.  Darn!  Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water.

Vocabulary

Antadar—'Gift Father'

gwador-nîn—'my brother'

Heard—'Fierce' or 'Strong' (Old English; pronounced Hey-ard)

Hyge—'Heart' or 'Courage' (Old English; pronounced Hew-guh) 

Predictably, Legolas and his escort encountered no perils within Eregion, for Elrond had sent ahead numerous scouts to make certain that it was clean of any foes.  As long as Legolas was within the reach of his forces, he would do everything possible to safeguard the well-being of his former foster-son.  The elven company was thus able to pass through to Dunland without incident.  They traveled only a short distance within Dunland before setting up their first camp in that land, in a clearing near a good water source.  With practiced ease, the Elves unstrapped their baggage and turned their horses out to graze.  

One of Legolas' saddlebags was completely filled with apples, and he now took that satchel and paced the perimeter of the camp.  He stopped to place an apple beneath each bush.  Perplexed, Thranduil watched him, but none of the other Elves seemed to notice his strange behavior.  At length, the young Elf returned to his father's side.

"Legolas, why did you place apples beneath the bushes?"

Legolas grinned.

"You will see, Adar-nîn.  The bushes have teeth!"

Sure enough, Thranduil soon heard a crunching noise.  Peering toward one of the bushes, he could just make out at its base a pair of small and dirty bare feet that were topped by skinny legs clad in ragged trousers.  No doubt the bearer of the teeth, thought Thranduil.  He heard more crunching and realized that several other bushes had teeth as well.  Legolas was smiling at him.

"You see, Adar-nîn, the bushes hereabouts are voracious!"

'They are indeed!" exclaimed Thranduil.  "I hope they confine their munching to apples, however!  Will I wake up in the night with one of these peculiar plants gnawing upon my toes?"

"Oh, fear not.  They will take naught but what is offered them."

Each time they made camp in Dunland, Legolas repeated the same curious performance, and each time the apples vanished forthwith.  At one camp he took his father with him when he went to visit a stand of saplings.  He knelt down and examined them carefully.  At last, satisfied, he arose.

"These saplings have been well tended.  It is too soon for them to bear fruit, but in a few more years, if the Dunlendings continue to care for them as well as they have done thus far, they will be gifted with a bountiful harvest.  Until then, I hope that the Rivendell Elves remember to feed the bushes whenever they have occasion to travel through Dunland."

Legolas looked a little sad at the thought that he himself would not be able to feed the hungry plants, and Thranduil placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

"I am sorry that we have no toothy bushes in Greenwood for you to succor," he said softly, "but I promise that you will find other objects who will be most grateful for your compassion.  In the last dispatch I received from Gilglîr, he reports that refugees, Man and Elf, even Dwarf, have been fleeing through our realm.  There is much for you to do, both in battle and in its aftermath."

Legolas smiled briefly.  Then he grinned at one of the bushes.

"Methinks I see a plant that is particularly dear to me."

He beckoned encouragingly toward one particular bush, and a scruffy, tousled Dunlanding boy emerged, but cautiously, for he had never seen Thranduil before and the King was not dressed like the Imladris Elves with whom he was familiar.

"Hyge son of Heard, you must come and meet my father."

"Ah,' said Hyge, reassured, "so this is Lord Antadar."

Legolas laughed.

"You may call him that.  But how do you?"

"Well, Master Elf."

"And your parents and brothers and sisters?"

"They are all well.  Another baby will be coming soon.  Indeed, Ma says she thinks she will have twins, so great has she grown."

"And how many children will that make in all?"

"Counting me?"

"Aye, counting you."

Hyge considered his fingers.

"If Ma has one baby, there will be nine of us.  If twins, ten.  That is not counting the three who died."

He said the latter so casually that both Thranduil and Legolas were cut to the heart.  How ephemeral were the lives of Men!  Yet the lad did not seem troubled, and like as not he would see more siblings die before he reached manhood.  Whatever losses they suffered, apparently Men had learned to take pleasure in that which remained to them.

"I wish your family good fortune," Legolas said.

"Thank you, Master Elf.  Will you be back soon?"

"I do not think so," Legolas said sadly.  "Not for several years, mayhap decades."

The boy looked disappointed.

"I had hoped to offer you an apple from our first crop.  The trees are growing well."

"Yes, you have tended them carefully."

The boy straightened his shoulders with pride.

"That I have.  And I have been taking especial care of our garden as well.  The people hereabouts call me Hyge the Farmer, and they come to me for advice about their own gardens.  When the chiefs call out levies for patrols, our village headman sends out his own son in my place for he says my skills may not be spared.  And both the blacksmith and the cooper have been visiting my father, trying to persuade him to promise me to one of their daughters.  The blacksmith has offered my father a great trove of tools!"

"So will you marry the blacksmith's daughter, then?"

"Nay, I like the cooper's daughter much better, and my Da says I have proved my worth and so earned the right to choose for myself!"

"As I have told you before," declared Legolas, "your father is a wise man!"

"Aye, he is, and the headman is very old and there is much talk of choosing my Da as the next headman."

"I foretell a great future for your people if they so chose, for a wise people choose wise leaders, and in the end, no matter what tribulations the wise encounter, things will go well for them."

"Then things will go very well for you, Master Elf!"

Legolas smiled gratefully at the boy.  He had been having difficulty imagining any future, let alone one in which things turned out "very well."  He hoped that the lad was as wise as his father and that his words proved true!  Suddenly he believed that likely they would.  If an orchard could flourish in this bleak land, then surely he would flourish in Greenwood.

"I thank you for your words, Hyge.  I must go now.  Give my greetings to your father and mother."

Legolas began to turn away but then something else occurred to him.  He hailed the lad one last time.

"Hyge the Farmer, if you like I could send a message to Imladris and ask the Lord Elrond to from time to time send you one of his gardeners to continue your instruction.  There are many things he could show you, such as how to graft fruit trees.  Would you like that?"

"I would like that very much.  But Master Elf, do you suppose that I might someday journey to Imladris?  Its gardens are famous, and I would very much like to see them for myself."

"I think you would be very welcome," Legolas assured him.  "When you have made the acquaintance of the gardener, send that request by him, and I am sure that the Lord Elrond will send you a favorable reply."

The next day, when the Elves resumed their journey, Legolas once again rode by the side of Thranduil, as he had every day of their journey.  Elladan and Elrohir rode side by side further back in the column.  They were beginning to feel disgruntled.

"We might as well have stayed in Rivendell," complained Elrohir, "forasmuch as we have scarce been able to speak more than three words to Legolas."

Elladan nodded glumly.

"Aye, Thranduil is ever by his side.  I suppose, however, that we should try to remind ourselves that we have had a thousand years to go about in the company of Legolas."

"True, but I think Thranduil is planning on the next two thousand!"

"Elrohir, be reasonable.  It will not take Thranduil two thousand years to question Legolas about the doings of the past thousand years.  Surely, it will not take longer to tell about events than it did to live them in the first place!"

"Oh, I am not so sure of that, Elladan.  Legolas has had a very eventful life!"

But Elrohir smiled as he spoke, and his irritation subsided for the time being, although he still longed to spend more time with Legolas.

While this conversation was taking place, Thranduil had at last gotten around to thinking of Durrandîr.  Even though he had recovered his own son, he was still concerned about the well-being of the young Elf who had been injured on his behalf.

"Legolas, have you ever heard of an Elf named 'Durrandîr'?"

            "In Imladris I was always 'Anomen'.  Elsewhere, however, I went by other names.  'Durrandîr' was one of them."

            Thranduil was stunned.

"So that was you in Greenwood!"

            "Aye.  I traveled there twice, once as part of a company that escorted Glorfindel to trade negotiations, the second time during the Battle for Dol Guldur."

            "Twice!  And the second time you nearly died but feet from where I stood!"

            The two rode on silently for a time.  Thranduil at length spoke again, but hesitantly.

            "Legolas.  Legolas, when you rushed into battle after the Orcs ambushed my party, did you know who it was for whom you fought?"

            "Yes," Legolas said simply.

            Thranduil did not try to hide the mingled tears of shame and gratitude that sprang to his eyes.

            "You were loyal to me even after I treated you so badly?"

            "You were still my father."

            Legolas tried to utter those words carelessly, but he could not disguise the shaking in his voice.

            "And the Elf who pushed me away from you?"

            "Ada, that was Thoron.  He did not know I was your son.  He thought I was a refugee who had fled your wrath.  He sought only to protect me."

            Thranduil nodded.  Still, it rankled a bit to know that his son had been almost within his grasp—literally, too!  He had to remind himself that at that point he had still not been prepared to father his son.  A reunion then might have gone ill.  He glanced over at Elrohir and Elladan, who had just ridden up.

            "King Thranduil," said Elrohir, "I suggest that we stop here to prepare the noon meal.  We will not reach the next good water source until nightfall."

            Thranduil gave his assent.  After the twins had ridden off, he turned to Legolas and spoke softly.

            "You and I will share many meals in Greenwood.  The twins seem a trifle glum, and I think you should make a point of sharing this noon meal with them and them alone.  Indeed, after the meal, ride with them until we make tonight's camp."

            Grateful, Legolas eagerly assented and rode after the twins.  When he came to the spot where they had dismounted and joined them, Elrohir was a trifle truculent.

"You called him 'Ada'," he said, scowling.

            "Did I?  I am not used to the word 'Adar'.  It does not come naturally from my mouth." 

            Legolas looked appealingly at Elrohir.

            "Gwador-nîn, this is hard for me."

            "Hard for me, too," growled Elrohir.

            "For shame, Elrohir!" Elladan chided him.  "This is not nearly as difficult for you as it is for our brother!"

            Elrohir was appropriately chastened.

            "I am sorry, Anomen.," he said contritely.  "Ah, Legolas, that is."

            "See," teased Elladan.  "You yourself are having difficulty settling upon the right name!"

            Elrohir blushed.

            "Oh, very well!" he conceded. "It is confusing for us all."  Then he grinned, the old mischief in his eyes.

  "One thing is certain.  You are younger than Elladan and I.  Therefore, as you seem to be joining us for the noon meal, 'tis you, skivvy, who must fetch the water!  Elladan and I were on the point of drawing lots, but you have saved us the trouble!"

Legolas laughed and gladly took the proffered camp kettle.  He would have cheerfully skivvied for the trio for another century, he thought.  If only all those whom he loved could be gathered together forever in the same place!  More and more, he did look forward to returning to live in Mirkwood, but at the same time he still regretted leaving Rivendell and the coming separation from his foster-brothers.  Ai! What were the Valar thinking when they made Middle Earth such a complicated place!? 


	23. Guests Of Saruman

_Jebb__:_ Yes, I think several of the characters have grown in stature.

_Farflung__: _Oh, I wouldn't bet that Legolas _never _sees Hyge again.  Remember that I still have fifty years to play with, and Hyge is only a boy.

_Melissa: _Things _have_ been going smoothly.  Please notice the past tense.  (Actually, to be technical, the present-perfect progressive—love those verb charts in my textbook   ^_^ ).

_Arwen__ Undomiel:_ Thank you.  Here's your update!

_Kitsune__: _Complicated, and about to get even more so.

_Dragonfly:_ I'm afraid that you will still feel that I am sadistic by the end of this story because it's another cliffie.

_Joee__:_ Aaaagh.  Once again I confused the names of two Elves!  Thanks for alerting me.  By now the corrected version should be showing up.

Vocabulary

Eärendil—'Lover of the Sea' (a mortal, son of Tuor, spouse of Elwing, father of Elrond)

Elwing—'Star-spray' (daughter of Dior, spouse of Eärendil, mother of Elrond)

"Nad no ennas!"—"Something is out there!"

Peredhil—'Half-elven' 

            The next day, Thranduil developed a sudden interest in the genealogy of the Peredhil, and from then on he often asked Elladan and Elrohir to ride at the head of the column so that he might ply them with questions about their ancestors.  The King asked every possible question that he could think of about the history of Eärendil and Elwing and their parents and grandparents and great-grandparents.  Having exhausted that subject, he then encouraged Elladan and Elrohir to tell him of their own various adventures, whether Legolas figured in them or not.  Elrohir in particular was all too glad to oblige—he had never been backward in this area!—and he held forth at length, itemizing with delight well nigh every Orc he had ever felled or Dwarf he had outwitted (the latter were few, but Elrohir was not about to let that fact get in the way of a good story).  By the time the elven party drew near to Isengard, Elladan and Elrohir had become great admirers of the gracious and intelligent King of Greenwood who expressed such admiration for their exploits and those of their ancestors.  Watching this, Legolas was amused and impressed.  Although he did not realize it, he was also feeling much less apprehensive, for Thranduil was pulling the Rivendell Elves closer rather than pushing them away, as Legolas had feared. 

            The four of them were riding abreast, laughing and talking merrily, as they rode up to the stronghold of Saruman the White.  Isengard looked and felt much the same to Legolas as it had the last time he had been there, save that the trees were more frightened, even cowering a little, if that were possible.  Still, as he rode past, it seemed to him that they drew their trunks a trifle more erect, as if his coming reinvigorated them.

            They dismounted at the base of the tower of Orthanc, where they were graciously received.  They had been expected, for Thranduil had sent ahead a messenger.  Servants—none of them were half-goblins, Legolas noticed—took their horses and escorted them with great ceremony into the tower.  They were led to rooms where they could wash and refresh themselves, and then the servants returned and led them to the chamber in the center of the tower where Saruman had his throne.  Gandalf, Legolas thought to himself, had no throne, but then he had no need of such a prop, for his grandeur came from within.

            Saruman arose from his throne and bowed deeply to Thranduil, making a great show of respect and deference.

            "King Thranduil, I am honored by your presence in my humble residence.  To what do I owe this visit?"

            Thranduil bowed in return.

            "I would like to present to you my son and heir," he said proudly, "Legolas, Prince of Greenwood.  He has been with Lord Elrond of Imladris, but he is now returning with me to his future realm."

            He gestured for Legolas to step forward from where he stood behind Elladan and Elrohir.  When Saruman caught sight of the Prince, for once in his long life the Istar was stunned, but he struggled not to show his amazement and dismay.

"King Thranduil, I have in fact met your son, although he was in another guise at the time.  I was twice or thrice able to offer my hospitality to him, but I knew him as 'Anomen'."

"Yes, I believe that you have hosted my son more than once whilst he went about under that name, although Legolas has not yet told me any of the details."

"You have not yet told your father the particulars of the time you spent as my guest, Prince Legolas?"

"Your pardon, Lord Saruman, but there is much that I have not had a chance to share with King Thranduil.  We have only recently been reunited.  However, be sure that I shall tell him all about your actions regarding me."

Saruman's eyes narrowed.  He did not like the ambiguity of that final phrase.  He was also furious at how things had turned out.  He had had the Prince of Mirkwood within his grasp, not once, not twice, but in fact four times, twice within the walls of Isengard itself, once in Fangorn Forest, and once when he encountered the wretched Elf in Dunland.  Legolas would have been invaluable, either as a hostage or as a tool, yet he had escaped each time.  Well, he would have to see whether he could still turn matters to his account.  Legolas had been at Rivendell.  Had Elrond been fostering him at Thranduil's request?  Saruman doubted it.  Legolas had been alone and in peril when he first came to Saruman's attention.  Thranduil would never have sent out his son without an escort.  Undoubtedly Legolas had been running away.  And Elrond had harbored him.  Surely Thranduil could be made to resent that fact, thus driving a wedge between his realm and Elrond's.  Yes, Saruman thought, his spirits rising, he would still make use of Legolas.  Who knows, if he could gain Thranduil's trust, mayhap at some point the King could be prevailed upon to hand over Legolas for 'safekeeping'.  Now Saruman could only be described as gleeful, and had his guests not been present, he would have chortled and rubbed his hands together.  "Anomen.  Legolas.  No matter.  By any name, you will be mine!" exulted the wizard.  Or," he added as an afterthought, "if not, I can still arrange to have you slain.  'Tis a long journey between here and Greenwood." 

For now, though, he would play the perfect host.  He ordered that the escort be well provided for, and as for Thranduil, Legolas, and the sons of Elrond, he summoned his cook and butler and commanded that no expense or effort be spared in their feeding and housing.  That evening, after a splendid feast, each was given a sumptuously appointed room, hung with tapestries of silk and adorned with ebon wood and gold.  Legolas, however, was uneasy at being separated from his father and his foster-brothers, and at the first opportunity he crept out of his chamber, knocking softly on doors until he found Elrohir's room.  When Elrohir told him to enter, Legolas, to his amusement and relief, found Elladan there before him.  Elladan was also relieved.  He had felt a little silly slinking into his brother's room and begging leave to sleep there for the night.  Now he had company in his embarrassment.

"It seems," said Elrohir loftily, "that I am the only one amongst us who would have brave enough to sleep alone in this wizard's tower."

Truth be told, Elladan's arrival had forestalled Elrohir's own plans of going in search of his brothers.  He had been standing by the door trying to summon up the courage to open it when Elladan had knocked.  Fortunately for Elrohir, elven vision or no, Elladan could not see through wood, else he would have been treated to the sight of his startled brother leaping back from the door, his face ashen.

Be that as it may, within short order, all three were comfortably curled up under the silken covers of the enormous bed.  Legolas was the first to giggle.

"I feel like an elfling," he confessed.  "Do you remember when we shared a room and would all pile into one bed after Glorfindel told us Troll stories?"

Elladan giggled, too.

"Aye, but the bed was not as big as this one.  Do you remember how one of us would always end up on the floor?"

"Usually me," said Elrohir mournfully.  He had always been the last to admit that he was frightened.  As a result, one of his brothers would have a spot safely by the wall, the other in the middle.  Having been the last to crawl into the bed, he would have to make do with a narrow strip by the edge and during the night either Legolas or Elladan would inevitably push him off.  Ai! The price one had to pay for courage!

This time, however, no one fell out of bed, at least not until morning, that is.  Each reassured by the presence of the others, they slept well and deeply until they were awakened by a vigorous knocking on the door several hours after the sun had risen.

"Enter," mumbled a drowsy Elrohir.  "Oh, King Thranduil!"

All three at once tried to arise in order to bow to the king, but they were tangled in the bed clothes.  Legolas was the first to exit the bed, for as he thrashed about trying to free his legs, he rolled over the edge.  As he fell, he pulled Elladan after him.  Elrohir frantically grabbed for a bed post, but, virtually tied to the others by bed linen, he too was dragged onto the floor.  Thranduil was laughing outright.

"'Tis lucky these carpets are so thick, else you would be all over with bruises.  I came to tell you that I have already broken fast with Saruman.  You three will have to make do with the leftovers—although that will be no hardship, for the food, as well as being delicious, was more than ample.  Then you may do as you please for the day, for we will not resume our journey until tomorrow.  Good day!"

The young Elves were relieved that Thranduil chose to comment neither upon their unorthodox manner of exiting the bed nor upon the fact that they had been too uneasy to sleep alone in their assigned bedchambers.  

Elladan and Elrohir, it was certain, were no more comfortable inside the tower than was Legolas.  By mutual agreement, then, after breakfast the three young Elves spent the entire day out of doors, wandering amongst the trees of Isengard.  Each tree that they passed, Legolas laid his palm upon it and murmured soothing words.  The twins, however, were only glad to be out of doors, in the sunshine, and paid no mind to the trees.  They hailed the members of their escort that they came across.  It seems that only Thranduil remained inside, closeted with Saruman.  Of course, the Great Hall was largely dolven, so mayhap Thranduil did not miss the sunshine as keenly as Elves raised in Imladris would.

            Saruman was making the most of his time alone with Thranduil.  He complimented him and pretended to seek his advice on various matters.  Little by little he drew the conversation around to Legolas.  Saruman was pleased to learn that it was true, as he had surmised, that Thranduil had not known that Legolas had been in Rivendell.

            "Strange that Elrond never sent word to you.  You must have suffered greatly."

            "Yes, but I cannot complain.  I was the cause of my own suffering."

            "Your pardon, King Thranduil, but I do not see how that is so.  Was not Elrond the cause of your suffering?  One message from him, and your son would have been restored to you."

            "Physically, yes, but that would not have put an end to my suffering.  Only I could have done that.  Elrond kept my son safe whilst I came to know myself better."

            "Yet you do not find it presumptuous of Elrond to take it upon himself to decide whether you deserved to be the father of your own son?"

            "But I did not deserve to be the father of my own son."

            "Even if this were true—which I doubt—who made Elrond the judge?"

            "Ah, but it was not Elrond alone.  It was, in effect, a council that made the decision.  Elrond, yes, but also Galadriel, Celeborn, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Mithrandir."

            "Yet a council to which you were not invited.  They made a decision regarding your son without even informing you of the matter at hand!  Does this not strike you as extraordinary?"

            "Yes, it was extraordinary, but the situation they confronted was also extraordinary.  Had they called me to the council, the very matter that they wished to discuss would have been moot.  No, they could have done naught else but what they did."

            "But my Lord Thranduil—"

            Thranduil raised his hand to interrupt, albeit gently.

            "My Lord Saruman, I appreciate your concern, but, truly, I do not feel as if I have been wronged.  My son has been restored to me, hale and hearty and above all happy, as he was not when under my care.  He has been returned to me when I have as good a chance as any new father at securing his child's continued health and happiness."

            Saruman smiled politely and dropped the topic, turning instead to the question of whether trade ties between Greenwood and Isengard could be strengthened.  He needed nothing that Greenwood had to offer, but he thought it wise to continue the charade of friendship with that realm—at least as long as Thranduil and Legolas still lived.  And that would not be long, he hoped.  Seeing that the father was as hard to corrupt as the son, the wizard had determined that both must die.  After Thranduil had excused himself to wash before the noon meal, Saruman muttered to himself, "Either you are with me, or you are—dead."  Then he dismissed the Greenwood King and Prince from his mind and turned his thoughts to another matter.  Thranduil had said that a 'council' had determined the fate of Legolas and that the gathering had included Mithrandir.  Why had this lesser wizard, the Gray one, been invited to this council when _he_, Saruman the White, had not!?  Why had he not been entrusted with the knowledge that the Prince of Mirkwood had been hidden in Imladris?  That would have been Galadriel's doing, he suspected.  He sensed that she did not trust him.  But regardless of her opinion, Mithrandir at least should have told him, even if the others had not seen fit to do so.  After all, in their order, he, Saruman, was the superior of Mithrandir.  The Gray wizard saw fit to meddle in many matters without a by-your-leave; if he had wanted to tell Saruman, he could and _would_ have done so regardless of Galadriel's advice.

            Agitated, Saruman paced back and forth within his throne room.  What else was that wretched wizard hiding from him?  He had noted with interest Mithrandir's repeated visits to that pitiful Shireland, home of naught but Halflings.  He was certain that something more than little people drew Mithrandir to that land.  Could it be that another princeling lay hidden within its hovels?  Or mayhap a great treasure?  Or mayhap—a _mighty_ treasure?  Saruman had from time to time set spies upon the Shireland, but thus far he had learned little.  The latest spies, three Southrons, had utterly failed in their mission.  One had vanished without a trace, the other had died in a bloody accident—fell on his own sword, the dolt—and the third, who had returned to report their failure, had become Orc-food at the command of his erstwhile employer, who did not brook incompetence.  Perhaps he should try again, but this time with half-goblins rather than Southrons.  He had already sent one half-goblin to Bree, and he had come back to report that there were some in that village who might be suborned.  Yes, he would entrust this mission to half-goblins.

            Satisfied with this decision, Saruman summoned one of his servants, gave some orders regarding both Bree and the morrow's departure of his guests, and then proceeded to join Thranduil for the noon meal.

            Later, when the sun had fallen, Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir reluctantly re-entered the tower and joined Thranduil and Saruman for the evening meal.  During that repast, Thranduil questioned Saruman about the dangers that they would likely face on the next stage of the journey, between Isengard and Lothlórien.  Saruman told him that he himself never felt in peril as he wandered through Fangorn and the lands thereabouts.

"It is long since I have been troubled by either Orcs or Wargs," the wizard reassured them blandly.

            Legolas misdoubted the reason that the wizard did not feel frightened by those fell beasts.  "No doubt," he thought, "it is because they are his creatures."  Still, he had no cause to cast doubt upon the trustworthiness of Saruman, no proof, nothing but the certainty of his own suspicions, which to others would be no certainty at all.

            The next morning, Saruman came down the steps of his tower to bid the Elves farewell.

            "I hope I shall see you again soon," he said, his eyes glittering like a serpent's.

            "A most gracious host, that," said Thranduil as they rode out the gate of Isengard.

            Legolas said nothing.

"You did not seem to enjoy your stay in Isengard, Legolas?  Why is that?"

"I do not trust Saruman.  I wish Gandalf were head of the order."

"Ah, I see," said Thranduil.  It was natural and commendable, he thought, that Legolas would be partial to the wizard who had mentored him.  With that, he dismissed the matter from his mind. 

            The Elves rode for several hours without any sign of trouble.  They were but an hour's ride from the border of Fangorn, and Legolas began to dare hope that Saruman would permit them to pass unmolested.  Then he heard the first low moans of the trees.

            "Nad no ennas!" hissed Legolas.  "Something is out there!"

            Thranduil looked at him doubtfully.

            "Are you sure?"

            "Aye, quite sure."

            Soon Elladan and Elrohir sensed the danger, and at last even Thranduil knew that they were in peril.

            Instinctively, Legolas now took charge, and neither Thranduil nor the twins gainsaid him.  He had more knowledge of Fangorn Forest than any of them.

            "Call back the scouts," commanded Legolas.  "They will only be picked off."

            Once the scouts had returned to the main body, Legolas ordered that all dismount and that the horses be placed in the center.  Then he ordered the warriors to draw their swords.

            "Two-handed grip," he commanded.

            "For a long time it seemed they stood thus, the horses ringed by Elves who stood grimly gripping the hafts of their swords with both hands.  The forest had fallen absolutely still, so none doubted that their enemies were close.  At last they heard the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs that betokened the near approach of their foes.

"Drop and brace," ordered Legolas.

Each warrior dropped upon one knee and braced his weapon on the other.  This order was given none too soon, for the forest erupted in snarls as massive, darkly furred creatures, their long yellow fangs bared, hurled themselves at the Elves.  But Legolas' preparations sufficed, for the very fury of the Warg charge caused the beasts to impale themselves upon elven swords.  The momentum of the Wargs did knock some of the warriors upon the ground, and Legolas urgently shouted at the Elves who remained standing to push aside the Warg carcasses that pinned several of their fellow warriors.  The freed Elves immediately prepared to fight again, although more than a few had broken ribs.

"The next wave shall be here upon the instant," Legolas warned.  "Sheath swords.  Nock bows."

Still encircling the horses, the Elves this time were set upon by howling Orcs.  These could not move as quickly as Wargs, so the Elves were able to shoot many down before they reached their lines.  Then the Elves dropped their bows and for the second time drew swords.  These Orcs had no more wit than most of their kind—Legolas was surprised that he still saw no sign of the cleverer half-goblins—and the Elves slowly but steadily cut them down with few injuries on their side.  At last they stood, panting, surrounded by the bodies of their fallen foes.  Thranduil sheathed his sword and moved toward his son, to congratulate him on his marshalling of their forces.  Legolas stood with his back to him—and also to the Orc who, having feigned death, suddenly arose, knife in hand.  Thranduil had no time to draw his sword.  He simply leaped forward, between the Orc and his son, and took the blow intended for Legolas.

Hearing the sickening sound of blade cutting through flesh and striking bone, Legolas spun around as the Orc yanked his knife from the body of Thranduil.  With a fury that would have been unmatched by that of the balrog-slayer, Legolas sprang at the murderous creature and beheaded him.  Then he dropped his sword and knelt by the side of his father.  He still lived.  Legolas yanked off his cloak and tore strips from it.  Elladan seized a water bladder, and he and Elrohir hastened to Legolas.  Legolas used the water to clean the deep wound in his father's side and then tightly bound it with the strips from the cloak.

            "We must return to Isengard at once," declared Elladan.

            "Nay, we must not!" exclaimed Legolas.  "We must take him to Lothlórien."

            "But Isengard is closer," Elrohir pointed out.

            Legolas shook his head.

            "Trust me, Elrohir.  If we take him to Isengard, he will not survive.  It is Galadriel's medicine he needs."

            Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other in bewilderment, but, as only Legolas had any knowledge of the perils of Fangorn, they had to assume that he knew something that explained his insistence that Thranduil be carried to the Lady.

            Legolas was so urgent in his demand that his father be taken up and carried to Lothlórien that the Elves did not stay to give a merciful death to any of the Orcs who might be wounded.  Nor did they gather the carcasses together for burial or burning.  This time they would trust to the scavengers to cleanse Middle Earth.  Legolas uttered a brief prayer of apology to Arda, and then, gripping his father tightly before him, he set as rapid a pace as he dared toward the land of Lothlórien.


	24. Choosing The Time And The Place

_Karri: _Thank you.  I am glad you like the interaction.

_Kitsune__: _Saruman is tricky, but he is not as wise as he thinks.  That is why all his plots are frustrated in the end.

_Melissa: _Sorry I couldn't update quite as quickly this time.  Hope you find the chapter somewhat worth the wait.

_Farflung__: _Sorry, no Lothlórien reunion in this chapter!  This is a Tawarmaenas chapter.  But Legolas and company will reach Lórien in the next installment.

_Arwen__ Undomiel: _Oh, dear, you and Melissa both praise me for the speed of my updates, and then I go and take an entire week to post the next installment.   *_*

_Dragonfly: _You're right.  I wouldn't change the canon so radically as to kill off Thranduil.  If this is a spoiler, so be it!

_Joee__: _You are _good_!  I haven't corrected that error yet, but I will.

_Jebb__: _I had a lot of fun with that elf huddle.  Glad you liked it, too.

As Legolas led the elven company north toward Lothlórien, his cousin Tawarmaenas was likewise leading a troop, but toward the south.  With Gilglîr as his advisor, the young Elf was commanding the combined Greenwood and Rivendell forces that relentlessly pursued the Orcs and their warg allies.  Inexperienced though he was, it did not take him long to suspect that their enemies might be leading them into a trap.

"Gilglîr, without pause they have been falling back before our advance," he worried.  "Mayhap they wish to draw us into an ambush."

"Yes," Gilglîr replied calmly.  "But since we know that is what they intend to do, it won't be much of an ambush, will it?"

"But, Gilglir, we will be fighting on their terms and on terrain that favors them.  Is this not to be avoided?"

"How otherwise are we to confront them, Tawarmaenas?  If we withdraw, they will still choose the time and the place to attack, for they will return to relying upon hit and run tactics, striking Elves who are utterly unprepared, utterly defenseless, oft-times not even warriors but craftsmen and traders.  Moreover, we will not be fighting entirely upon their terms.  Yes, our enemies will strike when they deem that conditions favor them, but at least we are numerous, well-armed, and, I might add, well led."

Tawarmaenas colored a little at the compliment, but of course he was very pleased.  He had been greatly surprised when the Greenwood delegation had returned without Thranduil but with letters that instructed Tawarmaenas to take command and Gilglîr to second him.  Gilglîr, however, had not been surprised.  His earlier journey with Tawarmaenas had led the Seneschal to appreciate both the young Elf's courage and his good sense.  True, he was still relatively inexperienced and would no doubt make rash judgments upon occasion, but Gilglîr would stay close and proffer needed advice.  In this, he would be acting no differently than if Thranduil had been leading the Elves, for even an older Elf may require guidance from time to time.

Cautious but determined, the Elves continued to march south.  Scouts preceded the vanguard but did not spread out very far in advance.  Everyone knew that the Orcs were ahead of them, and not too far off.  There was little that the scouts could do, and Gilglîr advised Tawarmaenas not to venture their lives in exchange for the modest advantage that they would bring.

"We do not want them cut off and slain as confirmation of the presence of an enemy whose nearness has already been proven."

Tawarmaenas agreed and the scouts drew back closer to the main body of the army.  Maegcrist rode continuously between the scouts and Tawarmaenas, reporting any sign that the distance between Elves and Orcs was diminishing or that the Orcs were preparing to turn upon their pursuers.  For several days he regularly arrived with to report that the Elves were indeed closing the distance between the two forces, but one day he galloped up to announce a sudden change in the situation.

"My Lord, our enemies have suddenly picked up the pace."

"A forced march?"

"Even faster than that.  They run as if the whips of their masters were behind them.  Shall I order that the scouts hasten forward?"

Tawarmaenas shook his head.

"No, they should hold their positions relative to the vanguard.  Gilglîr," he continued, turning to the Seneschal, "have the warriors dismount and the horses sent to the rear.  We will be able to mount no charges on this terrain, so the horses are likely to become hindrances rather than aids.  Order likewise that the pace of the march be slowed."

"Slowed," said Maegcrist, puzzled.  Gilglîr, however, looked pleased.

"Yes, Maegcrist, slowed," Tawarmaenas replied.  "Let the Orcs squander their energy and will if they please.  Let them scramble to take up their positions at the point they have chosen for their ambush, and then let them—wait.  Yes, let their fervor drain away and their doubts grow as they wallow in their pits and expend their energy in quarrelling with one another—for that is what they do when they are left to their own devices and have no enemy to distract them."

"Yes, my Lord!"

Maegcrist bowed respectfully and hastened to carry his orders to the scouts.  Gilglîr likewise bowed—his obeisance as deep as Maegcrist's—and he likewise strode off to do as he had been bidden.

For the remainder of the day, anyone happening upon the scene might have thought that the Elves were out for naught but a stroll, so slowly did they advance.  Dusk drew near, and at last Tawarmaenas gave the order to make camp.  Campfires were lit, and bedrolls and the other baggage of a marching army were strewn about—close enough to the circles of light cast by the fires so that they might be seen, but not so close that anyone might perceive that no one lay within the bedrolls.  Silently, the Elves clustered together in the dark thickets between the well-dispersed campfires.  A few Elves were chosen to move about within the camp, each showing himself briefly within the glow of a fire before moving back into the relative safety of the darkness.    

A few hours before dawn, the Orcs, weary of waiting and preferring, as always, to fight at night rather than under the disapproving face of the sun, rushed howling into the camp.  No one tried to prevent their advance.  Bows ready, the scouts had taken to the trees and silently permitted their foes to pass underneath them.  Encountering no resistance, the Orcs who stormed into the light cast by each fire fully expected to slaughter the Elves who appeared to lie sleeping there.

Instead, as the Orcs began to hack at the sacks of wool and cotton, the silent Elves concealed in the dark undergrowth let loose a storm of missiles.  The Orcs' howls of bloodlust were transformed into shrieks of pain and confusion.  They blundered about the camp, some seeking for foes to slay, but most looking for an escape from the arrows that seemed to fly at them from every side.  A few managed to orient themselves and head back toward their lines, but most of those were cut down by the scouts hidden in the trees.

The sun arose upon a scene of horror.  Twisted, blood-soaked Orc carcasses lay everywhere.  Some had fallen into the campfires, and columns of stinking smoke arose from their scorched and shriveled bodies. Others seemed to have clawed at the earth in their agony, the soil gouged and clutched by death-frozen hands.  Some lay with their eyes wide open, staring sightlessly up at the sun that mockingly illuminated the emptiness of their expressions.  Others were sprawled open-mouthed, blood trickling from the corners of lips locked in eternal screams.

Tawarmaenas felt a little sick, and Gilglîr laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

"The scene might have been far otherwise.  Better that death distort their bodies than those of your comrades."

"But better that death disfigure no bodies at all."

"It is unlikely," said Gilglîr dryly, "that that fact will dawn upon the Orcs, and you must therefore be prepared to face many a morning like this one."

Tawarmaenas nodded and then forced himself to once again take charge.

"Gilglîr, there were no wargs in last night's attack."

"No doubt the Orcs held them back so that their snarls would not give them away as they approached our camp.  It is very hard to persuade a warg to be still, short of giving the beast your hand to chew on, something even an Orc would quail at, I think."

Tawarmaenas smiled grimly.

"Gilglîr, the wargs and their minders will surely renew the attack.  Do you recommend that we hold these lines or move forward?"

"What is your judgment, Tawarmaenas?"

"That now we should drive forward with all possible speed, before our foes have a chance to regroup and reconsider their strategy."

"I could offer you no better advice than that, my Lord.  Shall I convey the orders?"

"Yes, Gilglîr."

Within minutes the word was spread, and the warriors assembled into their respective patrols and began to move forward at a jog.  They were preceded, as always, by Maegcrist and his scouts.  Their camp must have been very close to the Orcs' hiding place, for it was not yet midmorning when the first clashes broke out between scouts and Orcs.  This time the Orcs were reinforced by wargs, and it often took several arrows to bring down one of those beasts.  Fortunately, the rough, wooded terrain that prevented the Elves from mounting a cavalry charge also prevented the wargs from wreaking much havoc in the elven lines.  Many an Elf dodged behind a tree and thus saved himself from the onslaught of the fell beasts.  Other Elves swung up out of reach just as stampeding wargs were on the verge of goring them, thus causing the surprised beasts to crash into the ground as they threw their weight into targets that were no longer there.  In this manner, several Orcs were crushed by their own fallen steeds.    

 The scouts had been driven back to the elven lines by the initial clashes, but once there, they had joined their comrades in fiercely turning aside the repeated charges of their enemies.  Inch by inch, the Elves were driving the Orcs and wargs back, killing many, wounding others, confusing the survivors.  The Elves were nowhere near victory as of yet, but the Orcs no longer could believe that they had any especial advantage.

Sensing that the battle might slip from their control, the Orcs began to fight with reckless abandon.  In the end, this would be good for the Elves, for in their heedlessness the Orcs exposed themselves and their wargs to elven arrows.  In the short term, however, such was their frenzy that some were able to burst through the elven lines and kill and injure a few Elves who could not reach sylvan shelter in time.

One mounted Orc drove straight at Tawarmaenas, his warg seemingly impervious to the many missiles embedded in its hide.  Tawarmaenas made as if to leap aside, but his foot slid on soil made slippery by blood.  As he was about to be overborne by the snarling warg, Maegcrist leaped in front of him and took the blow instead.  Thrown hard upon the ground, before Maegcrist could arise, the Orc had skewered him with a spear.  Both Orc and warg fell then, pierced by many swords.  Maegcrist, however, was dead.

In a rage, Tawarmaenas sprang forward, slashing and stabbing at any Orc unfortunate enough to stand in his way.  But by doing so, he was outpacing his comrades and running the risk of being cut off.  He had only gone a few yards when a strong arm wrapped itself about his waist, pulling him back, and the voice of Gilglîr recalled him to his senses. 

"You will not be honoring Maegcrist's memory is you die needlessly, nor if you put other Elves in peril!  Look about you!  Your comrades are trying to follow your headlong charge into the midst of peril!"

Numbly, Tawarmaenas nodded, and fighting back to back Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas slowly retreated to the elven lines.  By the time they had reached safety, Tawarmaenas' grief had been transformed into steely calculation.

"Mag**_e_**lcrist," he shouted, "that line is wavering.  Take your warriors and reinforce it.  Meg**_i_**lcrist, you send your archers up that crest, and from that vantage point cover Langcrist's swordsmen."

Coolly and methodically, Tawarmaenas barked out orders, and the tide of battle clearly began to turn in favor of the Elves.  The Orcs became more and more frenzied, until their actions were purposeless, and the wargs, deprived of guidance, began to snap at their masters and one another.  At last their enemies—those that survived—were in full flight, and elven archers pursued them, felling as many as they could before darkness fell and the remnants disappeared into fissures in the ground.

Tawarmaenas was left surveying the field of battle.  He was the victorious general, but he did not feel like one.  Maegcrist and many others had fallen.  Not all the Imladris Elves would be returning to Rivendell, and the chambers of the Great Hall would miss the laughter and singing of not a few Greenwood Elves.  Gilglîr approached him softly.

"There are still some orders must be given, my Lord," said Gilglîr.

Tawarmaenas raised his head wearily.

"Can you not issue them, Gilglîr?"

"I could, but I should not.  This is your first major battle.  You should see it through to the end."

"Very well.  What remains to be done?"

"First, you should order that the injured Orcs be given a merciful passing."

"I do not wish to give that order!"

"Who are you, Tawarmaenas?  Or mayhap I should say 'what' are you?"

Confused, Tawarmaenas stared at him.

"But you have said so.  I am Tawarmaenas."

"Tawarmaenas the Elf or Tawarmaenas the Orc?"

"I do not understand.'

The Orcs have killed your friend.  Do not permit them to kill you and leave a soulless fiend in your place."

"I-I am uninjured."

"In your body, yes.  But there are many ways to die, and not all of them involve injury to one's body.  Do you understand?"

"Ye-es, I think I do.  Did not my uncle come close to dying in that fashion?"

"Aye, very close.  Some would say that he did die and that his soul has but lately returned to his body."

Tawarmaenas nodded his understanding.  He took a deep breath and turned to address Langcrist.

"Langcrist, set your warriors to checking each Orc body.  Quickly slay those who still breathe.  Once you are sure of all of them, have the carcasses heaped together for burning."

Langcrist bowed.

"Yes, my Lord."

Tawarmaenaes looked at Gilglîr, who nodded encouragingly.  The young Elf resumed giving orders.

"Mag**_e_**lcrist, we need much wood, both for funeral pyres and to build campfires to heat water for our wounded.  See to it."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Mag**_i_**lcrist, see that our dead are gathered together, their bodies cleansed of all Orc filth, and an honor guard set in place about them."

Magilcrist bowed and hastened off to see that these tasks were accomplished.

Gilglîr nodded approvingly.

"Thranduil will be proud of you."

At the mention of Thranduil, Tawarmaenas could not forbear asking a question that the exigencies of war had driven from his mind but which now returned in full force.

"Gilglîr, why did my uncle suddenly decide to remain at Rivendell?  His letter instructed me to take charge, but without giving a reason for the abrupt change in plans."

Thranduil's letter to Gilglîr letter had been a little more informative, but, as Thranduil had not seen fit to tell Tawarmaenas about his encounter in a garden with a mysterious golden-haired Elf, Gilglîr did not feel at liberty to enlighten him.

"No doubt all shall be made plain upon your kinsman's return, Tawarmaenas.  I suspect that this event shall take place shortly.  And when it does, I am sure that he will be grateful for the lengths to which you have gone to secure the realm for him."

Gilglîr had been careful to speak of Tawarmaenas's 'kinsman' rather than his 'uncle'.  Tired from the battle, Tawarmaenas did not notice the Seneschal's use of the general rather than the specific term.  To him, Gilglîr's choice of language signified nothing.  Gilglîr, however, suspected that the day would soon arrive when that choice of language would signify everything.


	25. Rest And Restoration

_Karri: _Thank you!  I'm glad you liked the battle.

_Farflung__: _But Pippin actually makes very good sense 'from a certain point of view', as Obi Wan Kenobe would say.

_Arwen__ Undomiel: _Here's an update that is a bit quicker than the last one!

_Joee__: _Yes, real life is such a bother when it keeps you from writing about the really important stuff!  You will be glad to see that this chapter is a Legolas one.  Also, I can't get over how you manage to spot stuff!  I guess I'm too close to my own writing to notice the errors.  Thanx!

_Dragonfly: _Yes, I picked 'Tawarmaenas' because I knew it would frustrate all my readers.  He he he!  ^_^

Legolas would not allow the company to pause even briefly.  Fortunately, their horses were elven and, understanding the need, were able to forgo rest for the time being.  As for the Elves, most dozed from time to time on horseback, their eyes open but glazed with sleep, trusting to their steeds to bear them safely.  Only Legolas never slept, although Elladan and Elrohir urged him to.  Nor did he have any stomach for the food and drink that they anxiously proffered.  On he rode, cradling his father in his arms, until they reached the border of Lothórien.  There Elves silently awaited them, some holding a stretcher.  Gently the Lórien Elves lifted Thranduil down from Legolas' horse and laid him upon the litter.  Legolas insisted on being one of the bearers, although Elladan and Elrohir pleaded with him to spare himself.  At a jog, the stretcher bearers and a few attendants, among them Elladan and Elrohir, set off, leaving the remainder of the company to follow at a more leisurely pace.

When they arrived at the base of the mallorn of the Lord and the Lady, those two Elves awaited them.  To Legolas' great relief, Gandalf was there also.  So, too, were Haldir and his brothers.  Celeborn himself bore Thranduil to the talan at the crest of the tree, Legolas following close on his heels.  Haldir and his brothers took charge of Elrohir and Elladon, escorting them to the talan of their sister Arwen.  Then they returned and resumed their vigil at the base of the mallorn.

Once in the Lord and Lady's talan, Celeborn gently laid Thranduil upon the bed that had been prepared for him.  Legolas hovered over him anxiously, but Celeborn put his hands upon his shoulders and softly drew him away.

"You must give Galadriel and Mithrandir room to minister to him," he said soothingly, keeping his arms upon the younger Elf's shoulders and using gentle pressure to stay him when he would have returned to his father's side. 

Mithrandir and Galadriel worked over Thranduil for a space, cleaning and anointing his wound and binding it with clean linen.  At last, satisfied, they arose from his side and turned their attention to Legolas.  His face was pale and his limbs trembled.  Unconsciously, he was now leaning against Celeborn for support.

"Are you well, Legolas?" Galadriel asked.

"No, merely worried about my father.  How is he?"

"The wound was deep, and he lost much blood.  Still, there is no sign of infection.  It is you for whom I am now concerned."

"I am well," Legolas repeated.

"You must rest," Galadriel insisted.  "Go with Haldir to his talan."

Stubbornly, Legolas shook his head.

"I want to be here when my father awakes."

"He will not awaken for hours."

"Nevertheless, I will wait."

Galadriel gave Gandalf a meaningful look.  The wizard stepped over to the young Elf and laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

"Now, Legolas," he said soothingly, "you know that Galadriel will do her utmost to care for your father.  You can contribute by looking to your own health so that she does not find herself burdened with another patient!"

Legolas still resisted.  Gandalf began to massage the spot on his shoulder where it met his neck.  Suddenly the wizard gave a little squeeze, and Legolas went limp, his eyes glazed over.  Celeborn caught his body and gently lowered him to the floor of the talan.

"Someday," said Galadriel, "you are going to have to show me that maneuver.  I may find it useful."

"How?  To silence Celeborn when he is too talkative?"

The wizard and both Galadriel and her mate smiled.  Celeborn was famously taciturn.

"No," laughed Galadriel.  "I had it more in mind to use on Elrond at council when he waxes too profound."

"You would have him slumber through every council, then?  But, Lady, I do not know if I can convey the secret to you.  It came to me in a vision, as I trekked through the stars, and I myself cannot explain how it works."

"Pity.  Ah, well, we had best see to our young guest here."

Celeborn carried Legolas to the base of the talan, where Haldir and his brothers still waited, and those three young Elves carefully conveyed the prince to Haldir's talan and put him to bed.  He slept for many hours.  When he awoke, he was bewildered.  How had he gotten here?  Suddenly he remembered.

"Ada!" he cried, throwing aside his covers and leaping to his feet.  He made for the rope ladder.

"Legolas!" shouted Haldir, "do you mean to run naked through Lothlórien!?"

Legolas looked down at himself but was too fearful for his father to be embarrassed.

"Where are my clothes!?"

"Removed," said Rúmil smugly, "by order of the Lady."

"And hidden," added Orophin, "also by order of the Lady."

Legolas scowled at the Lórien brothers and seized a blanket to wrap around himself.  Rúmil, however, laid hold of it, and a tug-of-war ensued.  At last Rúmil suddenly let go his end, and Legolas tumbled over backwards, landing upon a pile of blankets, fortunately.  Grinning ferociously, Rúmil promptly sat on him.

"Rumil—oomph—get off me!"

"We have our orders, Legolas.  The Lady will send word when Thranduil begins to stir.  Until then, we are to entertain you."

"This is not entertaining!"

"Oh, _I _am entertained," smirked Rúmil.

"Rúmil," scolded Haldir.  "Let him up.  I do not think this is what the Lady had in mind."

Rúmil arose, and Legolas sat up.  Haldir handed him the blanket, and Legolas wrapped himself in it.

"If I promise not to try and slip off, will you give me my clothes?"

"You will have to promise upon something that is precious to you," warned Orophin.  "The Lady says that you are not to be trusted unless you do."

"Very well.  I swear by my father.  Will that do?"

The Lórien brothers had to concede that such a pledge would indeed suffice.  Haldir disappeared over the edge of the talan and shortly reappeared with a bundle that contained Legolas' tunic, leggings, and boots.  Legolas hastily dressed.  He was resolved to remain indignant, but in the face of his friends' raillery, he soon found himself smiling, then laughing.  As he was not to leave the flet himself, his friends agreed to take turns bringing word from Galadriel's talan.  Off Orophin went, and he quickly returned with the news that Thranduil's color was good and his breathing even and not labored.  Moreover, his eyes, which had been closed in the manner of a Man, were now open and glazed in the normal fashion of a resting Elf.  Legolas exhaled and let his body relax.  He leaned back against a pile of bedding and gratefully accepted a plate and a water bladder from Haldir.  Suddenly he felt famished, and he realized that neither food nor drink had passed his lips since his father had been injured.

"Legolas," said Orophin, amused, "you are bolting your food like a Dwarf!"

"Nay!" laughed Rúmil.  "Like an Orc!"

"Stop tormenting him," scolded Haldir.

"Oh, I do not mind, Haldir," Legolas reassured him.  "It is pleasant to once again have the luxury of being silly."

"If you are sure," said Haldir doubtfully.

"I am quite sure—besides, your brothers' japes are nothing as compared to Elladan and Elrohir's."

"Is that a challenge?" cried Rúmil.  "Because we can do better, I assure you!"

"Yes," chimed in Orophin.  "We are not about to be outdone by Rivendell Elves in our own realm!"

"Ai!  I do not wish to spark a competition in this matter!" exclaimed Legolas in mock horror.

All laughed.  At that moment, one of the two Rivendell Elves in question poked his head up over the edge of the talan.

"Elladan," exclaimed Legolas.  "Mae govannen.  Where is Elrohir?"

Elladan pulled himself the rest of the way on to the talan.

"He is still with Arwen.  She is anxious to see you.  Are you well enough for another guest?"

"But I am not ill," said Legolas.

"Good.  We had heard that you were carried unconscious to Haldir's talan and feared that you had collapsed from a mixture of grief, exhaustion, hunger, and thirst."

Legolas wrinkled his brow.

"I did collapse, I suppose, but I do not know why.  One minute Gandalf was rubbing my shoulder; next I knew, I awoke in Haldir's talan."

"Ah," said Elladan, giving Legolas a knowing look.  "That old trick.  Never let Gandalf put his hand at the juncture of your neck and shoulder—not unless you are desirous of a nap."

"I had heard that Gandalf could put someone to sleep with a mere twitch of his fingers," said Rúmil, impressed, "but I have never met someone he had practiced his art upon.  What did it feel like?"

"That's just it," said Legolas.  "I didn't feel anything."

"I shall have to ask him how it is done," declared Rúmil.  "'Twould be a most useful skill."

"You are the last person he would tell!" retorted Legolas.

"Nay," laughed Elladan.  "Elrohir is the last person he would tell."

The talan erupted with laughter.  Everyone agreed that they would not want Elrohir to learn Gandalf's secret.  The uses that Elf would put it to—Ai!  Elladan left then to fetch Elrohir and Arwen, first warning Legolas that Arwen looked very different from the elleth who years ago had ridden away from Imladris.  When he and Elrohir returned with her, Legolas gasped, for, if anything, Elladan had spoken less than the truth.  'Willowy' was a term much favored for describing Elves, and there was no doubt that it suited Arwen.  She was lithe and graceful, moving fluidly as if she were a forest spirit.  Her face was serene, but not placid, lit as it was with intelligence and wisdom.  Acting on impulse, Legolas arose and bowed.  She laughed, a little self-consciously.

"Legolas," she chided him.  "You must not bow to me.  We are kin."

"Kin we may be, but you are a lady," replied Legolas gallantly.

Arwen blushed a little, and lowered her eyes.

"Elrohir and Elladan have told me much of the news from Rivendell, but not all.  How is the little human?"

"Estel?  He is well but greatly changed, Arwen—although not as much as you!  All his baby teeth have fallen out, and he has grown taller and more muscular.  In form he has more the figure of a youth than a child.  He is strong, graceful, and brave.  In one thing, though, he is unchanged.  He is still grubby.  And as for disrobing, for no one has he ever stripped as rapidly as he once stripped for you!"

Another eruption of laughter, and Arwen turned pink.

"Shall I recognize him when I see him again, I wonder," she said softly, "for it will be another decade before I return to Imladris."

Legolas shook his head.

"He is a human, and they grow rapidly.  He will be a man when you return—but you will have been gone so long that he may not recognize you, either.  Fear not, though, you will be great friends.  It is said that the 'child is father of the man'; he is a worthy youth and will be a worthy man."

The conversation moved on to other matters.  Had it not been for the fact that his father lay wounded, Legolas would have been perfectly happy, so pleasant it was to be at the same time in the company of both elven siblings and Lothlórien friends. From time to time one of the latter would slip away to check on Thranduil, and the news continued to be good.  At last Rúmil brought word that Legolas was to return to his father's side.

"The Lady says that he begins to stir, and she believes that he will soon awaken."

With eagerness and joy, Legolas leaped to his feet and sprang to the ladder.  In the proverbial twinkling of an eye, he had vanished from the sight of his friends.  Taken aback, they sat quietly for a moment but then burst into laughter.  As he raced through the trees, Legolas overheard the merriment of his friends and smiled.  When he arrived at the stairway that led to the Lord and Lady's flet, he took the steps three and four at a time.   Several servants hailed him, but he ignored them and burst unannounced onto the topmost talan.  Unannounced, but not unexpected.  There was no flicker of surprise in the eyes of any who stood there.

"Well, well," said Gandalf blandly, "you are awake, I see."

Legolas tried to scowl at him but could summon no more than a crooked grin.  Celeborn tried to look serious, but soon betrayed himself with a broad smile.  As for Galadriel, she simply glowed, her aura flickering and shimmering as she glided toward Legolas and enfolded him within her embrace.

"You seem to have taken no harm from your nap," she murmured.  "It will ease your father's heart to see you looking so well.  You would not have wanted to add to his cares."

Legolas had to concede that this was true.  Galadriel stepped back and gestured toward the pallet upon which Thranduil lay.  Legolas softly approached and seated himself by his father, taking his hand and stroking it.  So it was that his father found him when his eyes came into focus.

"Legolas," he muttered.  "Legolas!  I dreamt that you were slain by a spider.  No, by an Orc!  Praise the Valar that this was not so!  I could not bear to lose you yet again."

"If I am not lost, it was your doing, Ada."

Thranduil smiled weakly before replying.

"And if _I_ am not lost, it is _yours_."

Gandalf cleared his throat.  Legolas had forgotten that anyone else remained on the flet.

"Now that Thranduil is awake and can answer our questions," said Galadriel, "Mithrandir and I should examine him once again."

Reluctantly but this time without apprehension, Legolas arose and stepped back.  Gandalf and Galadriel approached and examined Thranduil carefully, prodding his abdomen and manipulating his limbs, asking him all the while whether he felt pain here or there.  To all their queries, Thranduil answered in the negative.  The normally imperturbable wizard was beaming by the time their examination was at an end.

"Thranduil, you are very tough in the fiber, I deem.  I should like to see the Orc scimitar that wounded you, for I have no doubt that it must be bent at the tip.  Whatever happened to the Orc itself, by the way?"

"Lost its head," deadpanned Legolas.

"Oh ho!  All those years of tutelage at the hands of Glorfindel have been good for something after all!"

"Enough of this chatter," scolded Galadriel.  "Thranduil should rest further.  Legolas, you may return to Haldir's talan—no, it won't do any good to protest!  Thranduil will not sleep if you sit watching him like an owl about to pounce upon a cony."

Galadriel ushered him toward the stairs.  Gandalf went along with him.  As they neared Haldir's talan, they heard frequent bursts of song and laughter.

"I wonder whether Galadriel troubled to have a count taken of her bottles of Dorwinion wine before your party arrived," mused Gandalf.  Just at that moment, a boot came sailing off the talan, followed by a pillow.  Next a cloak came floating down.

"Isn't that Arwen's cloak?" said Legolas.

"I believe it is.  This should be interesting.  Wait a bit."

Elf and wizard looked up expectantly.  Within a few seconds, Rúmil tumbled off the platform.  As he fell, he flailed his arms about and succeeded in catching hold of a branch, thus arresting his fall.  There he dangled, trying to catch his breath but laughing too hard to do so.

"That will be Elrohir's doing," observed Legolas.

"Nay, my lad.  I think you'll find 'twas Arwen pushed him off the talan."

"Arwen!?"

"Come, come, Legolas.  Surely you don't think Arwen has survived all these years in Lothlórien without learning how to hold her own in the company of Rúmil, Orophin, and Haldir!"

With that, Gandalf bade his young friend good-night.  Legolas ascended the ladder and learned that it had indeed been Arwen who had defenestrated the Lórien Elf.  As for Gandalf, he strolled off in the direction of Galadriel's Glade.  There he found the Lady smiling with amusement as she gazed into her Mirror.

"How are Legolas and Arwen getting on, my Lady?"

"Like brother and sister.  The years that they have been apart have not changed their relationship one whit.  Indeed, Arwen has several times called him 'Nomie', but, as that name provokes such hilarity on the part of the others, for once I am willing to indulge myself in prophecy**:** by the end of this evening she will abandon that name in favor of his given one."

"I am impressed at your skill at foretelling the future," said Gandalf gravely, his eyes twinkling.  "So Legolas betrays nothing but fraternal feelings for Arwen, and she only sisterly ones for him.  Good!  Good!  Nothing then stands in the way of an alliance between Arwen and the heir to the throne of Gondor.  No obstacle, that is, to the restoration of the Dúnadain to their former glory as lords of Westernesse."

"Other than thousands of Orcs, a Dark Lord, and an object of power that shall remain unmentioned?" replied Galadriel a trifle puckishly.

"Well, yes, there are those matters that must be addressed," admitted Gandalf, gazing thoughtfully at the ring upon his finger and then raising his head to look at the similar adornment upon Galadriel's finger.  "But as far as Legolas is concerned, when the time comes he shall stand at Aragorn's side as a friend and not as a rival."

"Yes, for his part, Legolas will do all he can to forward the interests of Aragorn.  Now as to Elrond, in his heart of hearts, he would much rather that Arwen ally herself with an immortal Elf who would someday sail with Arwen to the West, where Elrond himself shall at length dwell.  Yet if Aragorn can prove himself worthy of the sword of Isildur, Elrond will not stand in his way.  And now mayhap he could not even if he wished."

"That leaves only Thranduil, who, in his love for his son, will want nothing but the best for him, including the best of marriages."

"True, but Thranduil will not force Legolas to marry against his inclination, for the King has lately grown in wisdom."

"Yes," said Gandalf dryly.  "It is wonderful how losing a son and having him restored to you will bring about a remarkable clarity in one's mind."

Galadriel shook her head at him reprovingly.

"Mithrandir, someday that acerbic humor of yours is going to get you into trouble."

"My Lady, I would be delighted if that proved to be the worst of the trouble that I am going to get into!"

To that Galadriel had no answer.


	26. Swamp Dwarves

_Jebb__: _Yes, real life distracts one from the truly important stuff like nekkid elves.  ^_^

_Farflung__: _Yes.  I admit it.  I had fun.  Had fun with this one, too.

_Dragonfly: _Oh, yes!  It would be dreadful if any of the younger Elves figured out how to do the 'Mr. Spock' grip.  Which means, of course, that at some point I will have to write a story in which one of them does!  Mwah hah hah!

_Arwen__ Undomiel: _I can envision a story in which a well-meaning but misguided Elrohir and/or Elladan try to encourage a romance between Arwen and Legolas.  After numerous misadventures and misunderstandings, it would, of course, all come to naught.  Would that do?

_Joee__: _Right again, Joee.  That's another one I've got to correct.  *~*   But one of these days I **am** going to upload the perfect chapter and leave you totally flummoxed!   He he he!  ^_^

_Kitsune__: _I'll have to set up a situation that shows her triumphing over the twins.

_Karri: _Hmm.  I should do a 'meanwhile, back at the ranch chapter' that shows what is happening back at  Rivendell with Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, and Estel.

Thranduil remained in the talan of the Lord and the Lady for several weeks.  When he first began to recover his strength, Galadriel had asked him if he would like to have a talan of his own, one that he could share with Legolas.

"That is a very kind offer, my Lady, but, in truth, and if it would not inconvenience you too greatly, I would like to remain where I am.  Legolas will thus feel free to enjoy the company of his friends and foster-siblings without worrying that I have been left to my own devices for entertainment.  If I were to move into a flet separate from this one, he would surely feel obligated to spend all his time with me."

"He would not object, Thranduil."

"No, he would not, but it may be long before he sees his Lórien friends again, and it will surely be some time before he sees his Imladris foster-siblings.  I am particularly anxious that he spend as much time with the latter as possible.  He is giving up much in order to return with me to Greenwood; at the very least I should make sure that he is able to take full advantage of the fact that Elladan and Elrohir accompany us for the time being."

Galadriel saw the wisdom in Thranduil's words and had no objection to his remaining in her talan.  After all, no matter how long he stayed, she and Celeborn would still have an eternity to spend together, so there was no reason on that account to be troubled by the fact that the King of Mirkwood was camped in their bedchamber with his eyes open even in his sleep.  Elves are very patient and are able to take the long view in most matters.

So each day Legolas would break fast with Thranduil and their hosts, and then Thranduil, under the guise of needing rest, would urge his son to seek out the younger Elves and spend the rest of the day with them.  The evening meal Legolas would again share with his father and the Lord and Lady.  Afterward, Thranduil would swear that he desired to turn in early, and Galadriel would shoo Legolas away.  Invariably he would end up in Haldir's talan, as would Haldir's brothers, the twins, and Arwen.  This merry band would stay up until nearly dawn, when at last Legolas would sleep briefly so that he could rise refreshed to break fast and start the process all over again.  At about this time, it is recorded in the annals that a considerable number of older Elves who occupied the talans nearest Haldir's went to the Lord and Lady and craved permission to visit kin who lived to the south of Lothlórien, well away from Caras Galadhon.  The Lord and Lady graciously assented to their heartfelt requests.  The region near Haldir's talan thus came to be virtually depopulated for a time.  It is also noted that after Legolas and the twins departed, the older Elves poured back into the neighborhood.  It was also noted in the account books that the consumption of Dorwinion wine rose precipitously upon the arrival of the prince and the twins but then plummeted equally precipitously after the departure of the same.

While Thranduil was convalescing and Legolas carousing, Gandalf disappeared for a time, going on one of his mysterious pilgrimages to places unknown.  When he returned, his clothes were water stained and stank rather badly, and he confessed to having spent a considerable amount of time in a swamp.

"Whatever was Gandalf doing mucking about in a swamp?" wondered Elladan.

Offered Elrohir, "I heard him tell Galadriel that he had been tracking some creature but that it eluded him."

"A creature?  Was it an Orc?" said Haldir.

Rúmil snorted.

"I cannot imagine anything as large as an Orc eluding Mithrandir."

"If it ducked into a crevasse, it might," argued Haldir stubbornly.

"But Mithrandir could follow right after—you do know that his staff can cast light, don't you?" said Rúmil.

"In any event, in a swamp, there are no crevasses into which an Orc could duck," Legolas pointed out.  "Any crevasse would surely fill with water."

"Oh, very well," conceded Haldir.  "It wasn't anything as large as an Orc.  Mayhap it was a Dwarf."

"Dwarves do **not** frequent swamps!" exclaimed Elrohir.  "One cannot delve in a swamp."

"Some Men cut bricks of peat from bogs," suggested Orophin, who thought that the others were being rather hard on Haldir.  "They use the peat for fuel, I hear tell.  So mayhap the Dwarves are able to mine something similarly useful from swamps.  There could be a race of swamp Dwarves of whom we know nothing!"

"Swamp Dwarves," hooted Elrohir.  "Swamp Dwarves!  Really, Orophin, let us remain rooted in reality.   Surely you do not believe that such fanciful creatures could exist!"

"Oh, I don't know," said Orophin thoughtfully.  Only a few days ago he thought he might have seen a dwarfish sort of a creature in a swamp near the base of one of the Misty Mountains, near a point at which an underground river issued forth.  Of course, it seemed to slither rather than walk, and he had never heard it said that Dwarves slithered, although he supposed they must sometimes have to crawl on hands and knees to reach some of the remoter mine facings.  Whatever it was, it had gazed at him with large, luminous eyes for a moment and then—plop!—it had vanished into the murky water, leaving behind only ripples.  He had not mentioned this apparition to anyone because he already had a reputation as a bit of a dreamer even for an Elf.  He wondered now if he ought to have said something.  Perhaps it was not too late; it might be that Mithrandir would be eager to hear of this curious creature and would know what to make of it.  Orophin sat in silence for awhile as the conversation moved on to other matters.  After a bit, he slipped away and made for Mithrandir's talon.  There he found Gandalf garbed in one of Celeborn's robes, which was both brighter and larger than anything the wizard was used to wearing.  When the Istar arose to greet Orophin, he tripped over the trailing hem and under his breath muttered several interesting phrases that Orophin strained to hear in hopes that they would come in useful some day.

"You'll have to pardon my clumsiness, Orophin.  My clothes are even now being laundered, and I am forced to trick myself out like an exotic butterfly."

"Um, the color suits you, Mithrandir.  Anyway, don't you ever get tired of wearing gray?"

"Indeed I do not!  Gray is not a color that attracts attention, and believe you me, it is sometimes a positive necessity to be overlooked when you are in my line of work!"

For the first time, Orophin wondered what 'line of work' Mithrandir was in fact 'in'.  In truth, he knew little about the wizard.  He had observed that the Istar tended to appear at the most unexpected yet opportune moments.  Oh, yes, and that he was highly esteemed by the Lord and the Lady, and, by all accounts, Elrond as well.  He was old in the eyes of Men, but Orophin knew that he was far more ancient than ordinary Men, for he had heard him speak with first-hand knowledge of events that took place long before the birth of any mortal now living.  He had power of several kinds—the power of magic but also the power of wisdom and of eloquence.  Lately Orophin had begun to realize that the wizard also possessed a physical strength that belied the appearance of an agéd body.  The journeys that he went on were demanding ones, and Orophin himself had seen Mithrandir wielding a sword to great effect when, led by Tawarmaenas, the Lothlórien and Greenwood Elves had gone to the aid of the Imladris Elves in their battle against the Orcs who had been haunting the western flank of the Misty Mountains.  Altogether, Mithrandir was surely to be numbered among the Great of Middle Earth.  But what his purpose there was, Orophin could not guess, save he was sure that it tended only to the good of Arda and its inhabitants.

For now, he realized that the enigmatic wizard was calmly puffing on his pipe and observing him with a shrewd look that made the young Elf uncomfortable.  The Istar drew the end of the pipe from his mouth.

"There is something you wish to tell me that you wish you had told me earlier."

"I-yes-I did not think it important earlier, but mayhap it was."

"Well?"

"I saw a creature, a smallish creature, in a swamp not so far from the borders of Lothlórien."

"Many a creature, and smallish ones, live hereabouts."

"Yes, but this creature did not look like anything I had ever seen before."

He paused.  Gandalf nodded at him encouragingly.

"Go on."

"In height, it could not have been taller than four feet, but I think less."

Gandalf sat up straighter.  Forgotten, his pipe went out.

"It stood upon two feet, although with stooped posture.  As I watched, it dropped down upon all fours, as if its hands were another pair of feet, and in that fashion it scrambled about—well, slithered, really—quite easily."

"It had hands—you are sure of that?"

"Yes, quite sure.  The creature had fingers, not claws."

"Did you see its head?"

"Yes, and it had a face."

"A face?"

"Yes, not a muzzle, for it had no snout.  Its eyes were both set on the front of its head, not on the sides, and it had a nose between.   It had a mouth with lips, although they were thin, and it did not have large canines like a beast but rather smallish teeth, albeit broken and scanty."

"Can you remember anything else?"

"Yes.  In color, it was quite pale, like to a grub newly uncovered from beneath a rock or a log.  It did not have a pelt, only some stringy hair upon its head."

"Is that all?"

"No.  It was clothed after a fashion, with some dirty rags about its middle.  And, Mithrandir, there was something else, something exceedingly odd."

Gandalf smiled a little.

"Everything you have told me has been exceedingly odd."

            "Well, even odder.  Mithrandir, its ears—its ears were _pointed_."

            "Pointed?"

            "Aye, like Elf ears.  But it was no Elf!"

            "Elves are not the only creatures whose ears are pointed," said Gandalf softly.

            "Pardon, Mithrandir?"

            "You are quite right, Orophin.  It was no Elf, I assure you!"

            "But what was it, Mithrandir?"

            "That I shall tell you someday," Gandalf replied briskly.  "For now, tell me where you saw it, and when."

"I saw it in a swamp not so long ago."

"Come, come!  There are many swamps, and 'not so long ago' could mean a century to an Elf.  Pre-cisely, if you please!"

"Do you know the spot where a river issues forth from beneath the Misty Mountains?"

"Yes," said Gandalf, growing a trifle tense.

"It was in that bit of a swamp that you find there."

"When!? When!?" cried Gandalf, suddenly urgent.

"Not more than a se'en night ago, when the Lady sent me with a message to the southern patrols."

Gandalf sprang to his feet.

"Tell me, my lad, which end of the swamp was it at!?  North!? South!? East!? West!?"

Orophin considered.

"It was at the very margin of the swamp, furthest from the mountain.  That would be the easternmost edge."

"Ah, so it was not lurking at the very entrance but had come out as far as it could whilst staying within easy reach of the water.   Good!  Good!  Mayhap it will venture further.  You didn't frighten it or threaten it in any way, did you?"

"Oh, no!  I knew not what it was.  Moreover, it carried no weapons, and as it had neither claws nor large teeth, I did not deem it dangerous."

"Do not be too sure of that!" Gandalf said sharply.  "Still, on its own it would not be too likely to trouble a grown Elf, and a well-armed one at that.  Thank you for this bit of news, my lad.  I must speak with the Lord and Lady at once and ask that scouts be discretely placed in the vicinity of that swamp.  So close to the Misty Mountains, it would not do to alarm the creature, for it will retreat back to the very roots of those peaks.  No, I will not try to trap it just yet.  Let it come out further and venture in pursuit of its precious; then the hunt will be on.  Paw!  To think I spent two weeks blundering about in the wrong swamp on the basis of a report from that wretched bird.  That is the last time I will take the word of a wagtail, you may be sure!  More concerned with preening that anything else!  Believe me, Orophin, the only bird less reliable is a whinchat!"

With that, Gandalf swung himself over the edge of the talan and began to descend the ladder.  Apparently the trailing hem caught him up once again, because Orophin suddenly heard a sudden exclamation, which was followed by a crash accompanied by an 'oomph!'  Cautiously Orophin crept to the edge of the flet and peered over just in time to see Gandalf crawling from a bush, swearing mightily in a language that the young Elf did not speak.  The only word that he could make out was 'burzum', which he had already learned from Elrohir.  He sighed.  At least, he thought, he could now be certain that he had seen something real in the swamp.  Something real, and, judging from Mithrandir's reaction, something important.


	27. Farewells Loom

_Arwen__ Undomiel: _Here is an update that I've managed to put together a little faster than the last one.  Enjoy!

_Melissa: _Oooh, Walt Disney World!  My daughter and I and two of her friends are going there in June.  We went once before and loved it!  We loved the Pirates of the Caribbean ride even before it became a movie.

_Grumpy: _I enjoyed sticking my Elves up in a tree—um, no pun intended, really!

_Jebb__: _I wasn't actually thinking of the legend of Beddgelert, but I can see that there are some similarities between the tale of the loyal Gelert and Estel's Gwaurant.  Are you familiar with the Disney animated feature Lady and the Tramp?  There is an episode in there that is very similar to the legend of Beddgelert.  A dog protects a baby from a rat, but the baby's aunt believes that the dog was attacking the baby instead.  He is hauled off to be put down.  Fortunately, the parents arrive and discover the body of the rat in time for the dog to be reprieved.

_Farflung__: _I am going to send Baramagor out on patrol _very _early the next morning.  Of course, this will only be postponing the day of reckoning.  As a warrior, Baramagor can't avoid the Armorer for ever.

_Karri: _Oh, there are a few Elves left in Rivendell who are capable of riding to the rescue.  I'll let you in on a secret.  Erestor is going out again.  He he he.  ^_^

_Joee__: _Would you believe that after I bragged about my perfect chapter I found a spot where I typed 'Baramathor' for 'Baramagor'?  I was probably getting the spelling of his name confused with that of 'Berenmathor'.  So you missed a chance to dictate the terms of my next story!  But, wait, maybe you'll find a mistake in _this_ installment.  I'd better not get too cocky.

_Kitsune__: _Poor father indeed!  I will now have to arrange to get Baramagor out of Rivendell before the Armorer can get his hands on him.

_Dragonfly: _People seem to like my nekkid Elves.  Hmm.  Maybe I should do a nekkid Elf series.  Nah, never mind.

            Thranduil was well enough to travel, and the older Elves, joined by Gandalf, were discussing the final stage of Legolas' return to Greenwood, which all felt should not be delayed much longer.  Gandalf, as usual, led the way in bluntly outlining the situation.

            "Thranduil has done well to permit Legolas to spend time with friends and foster-kin.  However, if he goes on spending each day so pleasantly in their company, he may come to have second thoughts about completing his journey!"

            "Mithrandir is right," agreed Celeborn.  "Legolas has been free from all cares these past several weeks.  He must not be allowed to forget that he has very real responsibilities, and, I might add, he would have had them whether or no he had admitted to being the Prince of Greenwood.  A time draws near when every Elf will be expected to play a role in the defense of Arda."

"Yes," said Galadriel, "and for some that time has arrived.  I do not think Elrohir and Elladan should continue further.  Elrond has need of them at once.  Estel, upon whom so much depends, has gone astray and must be recovered."

"Legolas will take it hard if he is deprived now of the twins," objected Thranduil.  "I am sure he was relying upon their being at his side when he re-enters the Great Hall."

"As he should not," said Gandalf.  "For he would turn to them when he should be reaching out to establish relationships with Greenwood Elves—not least of all with Tawarmaenas!  No, Elrohir and Elladan should return to Rivendell with the escort of Imladris Elves.  Henceforth it shall be their business to safeguard the heir to the throne of Gondor."

"And what of Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin?" asked Thranduil.

"With the departure of the Imladris scouts, you will need an escort of Lothlórien Elves," conceded Celeborn.  "Haldir and his brothers could be numbered amongst them."

"That will soften the blow somewhat," said Thranduil gratefully.

"Yes," said Galadriel, "but the Lórien guardians must not linger.  Once they have seen Thranduil and Legolas safely to Greenwood, they must return at once."

"Why the haste, my Lady?" asked Thranduil.  "We would be glad to host them for as long as they wished to stay."

"I do not decline your hospitality lightly, Thranduil," Galadriel replied, "but Legolas will turn to Haldir and his brothers as he would have turned to Elladan and Elrohir.  It shall not be their intention, but they will drive a wedge between Legolas and the Greenwood Elves, who will soon be resentfully whispering that Legolas does not deign to consort with them, preferring instead the company of foreign Elves."

Thranduil sighed.

"You speak the truth.  For Legolas the bitterness of parting has been delayed slightly, but it cannot be avoided altogether."

"This will be true for many, Thranduil," said Galadriel.  As she spoke, she glanced keenly at Gandalf.  He returned her glance steadily.

Thranduil arose.

"I suppose," he said unhappily, "I had better inform Legolas of our decision."

Gandalf arose as well.

"Indeed you should, Thranduil.  But you may also pass along this as consolation.  I think it is time that I pay a visit to Greenwood—if you don't object, of course."

"Object!" exclaimed Thranduil.  "My dear Mithrandir, why ever would I object?  But," he teased, "aren't you being a trifle hypocritical—declaring that Elrohir and Elladan may not accompany Legolas but then going yourself!?"

"Not a bit," replied Gandalf, unperturbed.  "It is true that Legolas will come to me for counsel, but I am not his boon companion!  My presence will reassure our young prince, but it will not in the least deflect him from gravitating toward the younger Greenwood Elves when he feels the urge to shoot, ride, drink, swim, sing, flirt, and gossip.  I do not excel at any of these activities."

"Are you sure?" said Galadriel teasingly.  "Among other things, we have never heard you sing.  Shouldn't you assay that art so that we may judge whether or not your words be true?"

Voice mirthful, Gandalf answered in the same light-hearted fashion.

"Believe you me, Lady, you do not wish to hear me sing!  Once, in a tavern, I croaked out a ballad to throw some Southron spies off my scent.  They concluded that anyone with such a voice must serve the forces of darkness, and far from seeking my death, they sought to recruit me to join their number!"

All laughed heartily, even the Lady.  After she had recovered, she made as if to speak, but the wizard raised his hand to stay her.

"Nay, Lady," he chuckled, "you are about to suggest that I swim instead of sing.  I do not think you Elves would appreciate a piscatory exhibition of my form any more than an auditory one!"

"I for one do not!" Celeborn agreed hastily.  "Pray keep your robes on, Mithrandir!"

"Why, Celeborn," declared Galadriel, "you do not wish to enter into a swimming competition with Mithrandir and Thranduil!?  For shame!  Have you no spirit?"

"I will enter into such a competition if you will!" rejoined Celeborn.

"I am surprised at you, Celeborn," answered his mate.  "Surely you must know that _someone_ must serve as judge of any competition.  I had been minded to volunteer for that duty."

"Aye, to remain on land—and clothed," laughed Celeborn.  "How very thoughtful of you!"

There was a time when Thranduil would have found it painful to witness such cheerful repartee between husband and wife, but now he found himself enjoying the affectionate exchange.  It did not, as in times past, remind him of what he had lost**;** rather it put him in mind of what he had regained.  For the more comfortable he and Legolas became with one another, the more they engaged in the same sort of light-hearted bantering.  Smiling, he turned to depart the talan, but once more he was called back.

"Thranduil," said Galadriel, "there is one more matter needs addressing.  And, Mithrandir," she chided smilingly, "why do you stand as if all has been concluded?"

The two resumed their seats and gazed inquiringly at the Lady.

"Mithrandir mentioned Tawarmaenas a little while ago.  Should we not give some thought as to how this news is to be broken to him?"

Thranduil looked chagrined.

"I have been remiss in my duty.  So overjoyed I have been to regain my son that I have lately given no thought to my nephew, my sister-son!"

"Do not reproach yourself," said Galadriel.  "It is not every day that a dead son is restored to his father**;** moreover, you have been injured.  Altogether, you have had much to preoccupy your thoughts."

  "Galadriel is right," agreed Gandalf.  "She is also right that that the news must now be conveyed to Tawarmaenas, but I do not think we should worry overmuch about how he will react."

"Should we not?" asked Thranduil, puzzled.  "For centuries he has been raised to think of himself as heir to the throne of Greenwood.  Suddenly he is heir no longer.  Will he not be distressed?"

Gandalf laughed, but it was a kindly laugh.

"Thranduil, I assure you that Tawarmaenas will be positively delighted to learn that he is not to be your heir.  Out of a sense of duty, he has diligently studied to be king, but he never aspired to that position.  Indeed, I think you will find that he has consoled himself these many years with the belief that Legolas lived and would return some day to save him from the fate of becoming ruler of Greenwood."

"You think so?" said Thranduil, relief upon his face.  "I do not wish to see Tawarmaenas hurt, for I love him like a son.  It is good to know that he will not be disappointed at learning that he is no longer the Prince of Greenwood."

"Oh, he will feel not disappointment but joy—for you, for Legolas, and for himself.  In fact, it is for this reason that Galadriel is right—we must give some thought to the reunion between Tawarmaenas and his cousin.  Tawarmaenas will be so excited that I think that the first meeting should not take place in public."

"Mithrandir is right," agreed Galadriel.  "Legolas should arrive quietly at the Great Hall, without a great crowd gathered about.  There should be no grand progress from Lothlórien to Greenwood."

It was Thranduil who was disappointed.  He had looked forward to proclaiming to the world his joy at having recovered his son.  Now it seemed that his friends and advisors wished to rob him of that pleasure.

Galadriel smiled at his chagrined face.

"Thranduil, we are merely suggesting that you delay a little any public ceremony welcoming the return of Legolas, at least until Legolas and Tawarmaenas have had a chance to become reacquainted.  Surely a few more months will signify little, given how long you suffered his absence.  At least you can enjoy his company whilst you wait for the right moment to reintroduce Legolas to his future subjects.

When matters were put in those terms, Thranduil could not but agree.

"Very well," he said, more cheerfully than any had expected.  "Legolas shall return quietly—but you may be sure that, when the requisite time has passed, there will be a celebration the likes of which have never been seen in any of the elven realms.  Mithrandir, you must provide fireworks—do you suppose you could create spider webs in the sky?  I think that would be most appreciated by all and sundry!"

Gandalf chuckled.

"Spider webs, eh?  You have recovered your mordant sense of humor, I see.  Well, well, I will think on it.  And now, my Lady, may Thranduil and I at last be excused, he to inform Legolas of these plans, I to meditate upon the design of a shell that when exploded will create a silver web across the sky?"

Galadriel inclined her head, and both she and Celeborn arose as their two guests took their leave. 

Both Gandalf and Galadriel had one other reason for desiring that it not be widely known that Legolas would be journeying from Lothlórien to Mirkwood.  In truth, Galadriel was the more concerned of the two, but Gandalf acceded to her request that he support her in the matter.

"Mithrandir," she had said privately to him, "perhaps there are some who would be disappointed to learn that Legolas still lives.  After all, a realm whose king has both a son and a loyal nephew as potential heirs is more secure than one in which one heir only survives.  When our Greenwood friends depart this land, they will be at their most vulnerable, for there is no shelter between here and their kingdom save for the lands kept by Beorn.  It should not be bruited about that Thranduil and Legolas are journeying hence."

"My Lady, it is certainly already known by many that Thranduil is here, and that he is accompanied by a young Elf whose resemblance to him is striking and who is being treated with the utmost deference.  And it will be expected that the king and his young companion will eventually journey on to Greenwood."

"True, Mithrandir, but the exact time of their setting out can surely be hidden.  In that manner at least we can reduce the danger that they will be assailed."

Galadriel did not tell the wizard that above all she feared the machinations of Saruman, for she knew that Gandalf did not share her suspicions of him.  It seemed that in all of Middle Earth only Legolas felt the same way that she did about the Istar of Isengard.  But even without mention of Saruman, Gandalf was able to see the wisdom of Galadriel's words.  Indeed, so seriously did the wizard take her advice that he vanished for a few days shortly before Legolas and Thranduil were to depart.  It seems that he made a quick journey to the dwelling of Beorn the shape changer.  Willingly did that ursine worthy once again agree to deploy his horses as guardians of Gandalf's friends.  So it was that the Elves repeatedly came upon the trampled bodies of Orcs and wargs as they journeyed from Lórien to Greenwood.  And so it was that Saruman never heard tell of what became of the force that he had sent out to ambush the Elves in the plain between the Misty Mountains and the forest of Mirkwood.

But at this time that journey was still several days in the future.  At the moment, the immediate task the older Elves faced was to inform the younger Elves that soon their fellowship would have to disband.  Thranduil first went to speak with his son.

"Legolas," he called up from the base of the tree that held Haldir's talan.

The head of his son appeared over the edge of the platform.

"Yes, Ada."

"Ion-nîn, come down that I may speak with you."

Legolas went obediently to the ladder and swiftly descended.  Once on the ground, he and his father strolled into the woods and disappeared. 

The remaining Elves exchanged worried glances one with the other.

"I think," opined Rúmil, "that things are about to happen."

"Aye," sighed Orophin.  "'Happen' as in Legolas is going to be departing shortly for Greenwood."

"We knew he wasn't going to be staying forever," Haldir pointed out.

"Yes," said Elladan unhappily, "but from the first he was never going to be staying forever _here_.  But it did seem for awhile as if he were going to be staying forever in Imladris."

Elrohir tried to think of something to say to cheer up his twin.  He flung an arm over his brother's shoulder.

"At least we won't be parted just yet," he consoled Elladan.  "We will be escorting Legolas to Greenwood, and then we may stay several weeks before we depart on the return journey to Rivendell."

At that very moment, however, Legolas was learning that this was not to be the case.  Thranduil had decided to speak with utter honesty and explain why Gandalf and the older Elves had decided that it was time for Elladan and Elrohir to return to Imladris.

"There are two reasons, Legolas.  First, Galadriel senses that Elladan and Elrohir are needed in Rivendell to secure the safety of Estel.  As you are well aware, Galadriel and Mithrandir are convinced that much depends upon that young human.  I must confess that I do not know all the reasons why they believe this to be so, but I do not doubt the truth of their assertions."

"Nor do I, Ada.  I know Estel well.  In him is a goodness that has already budded and that will blossom into greatness in the fullness of time.  But what is the second reason, Ada?"

"We fear that you will turn overmuch to Elladan and Elrohir when you should be forging friendships among your Greenwood peers.  It would be a natural impulse on your part, but such behavior would alienate you from your future subjects."

Legolas pondered.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "that you will next tell me that Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin may not accompany me either."

Thranduil smiled, although a little sadly.

"You are very astute, my son.  You must concede that you would turn to Haldir and his brothers just as you would turn to Elrohir and Elladan.  Your friendship with them is strong and dates back many years."

Legolas sighed.

"I cannot deny that what you say is true."

"Take comfort in this, my son.  Haldir and his brothers will journey with you to Greenwood.  It is just that, once they have seen you safely home, they will not remain past the time it will take them to rest for the return journey.'

Legolas nodded.

"I understand, Ada.  Is that all?"

"No.  Mithrandir will be journeying with you—and he will _not_ be returning straightaway.  He means to spend several weeks in Greenwood."

Legolas brightened.

"That is good!  I will not be utterly bereft of friends."

"Legolas," chided Thranduil, "surely you have not forgotten your cousin Tawarmaenas!  And what of Gilglîr?  Was he not your friend!"

Legolas was chastened.

"You are right, Ada.  It will seem strange at first not to go about in the company of Elladan and Elrohir or Haldir and his brothers, but I know I shall not be friendless."

"I am glad you agree.  Do you wish to explain matters to your friends and your foster-brothers, or would you prefer that Galadriel and Mithrandir take on that task?"

"No, Ada.  I would prefer to tell them."

"That would probably be best, but I thought I had better ask."

"Thank you, Ada."

"Oh, and Legolas."

"Yes, Ada?"

"If Elrohir is still troubled by hearing you call me 'Ada', I would not mind if you called me 'Adar-nîn'.  Truly, Legolas, I would not be hurt if you addressed me in the more formal fashion out of regard for Elrohir's feelings."

Legolas shook his head.

"No, Ada.  He has told me he does not mind.  Elrohir now understands that I have two fathers and love them both.  He said that since a person can manage having more than one brother at a time, he sees no reason why a person can't have more than one Ada, too."

"Wasn't Elrohir the twin who had the reputation for being a hellion?"

"Yes," laughed Legolas.

"Hmm, it seems that the hellion has matured into a philosopher!"

"Yes," teased Legolas, "but he may revert into a hellion when I pass along this news.  And if he does, look to your hair!"

"My hair?"

"Yes.  Elrohir specializes in the cutting and dying of hair into unusual shapes and odd colors—the brighter the better.  I shall tell you of his tonsorial exploits some day."

Thranduil entered into the spirit of things.

"I assume that said exploits were 'hair raising'."

"More like 'hair razing', Ada," chortled Legolas.

"Be off with you," smiled Thranduil, pretending to cuff one pointed ear.

Legolas made a great show of ducking, and then, grinning, he ran back in the direction of Haldir's talan.

It was only after he left that the significance of his words dawned upon Thranduil.

_Elrohir__ now understands that I have two fathers and love them both._

Thranduil stood tranfixed.  The words reverberated in his mind.

_I have two fathers and love them both._

"Thank you, my son," whispered Thranduil.  "Thank you."


	28. A Lumpy Mattress

She's baaaa-aaack—again! First, I'd like to acknowledge the following reviewers, although without, I am afraid, the usual personalized responses (when you see how loooong this installment is, you'll understand why I'm calling this chapter quits without composing a note to each reviewer): _Karri, Grumpy, Gil-neth, Farflung, Melissa, Dragonfly, Joee, _and_ Kitsune. _Hope I didn't overlook anyone. My apologies if I did.

I would also like to extend congratulations to _Joee_ and _Dragonfly_, both of whom succeeded in grasping the 'gold ring' as they rode this merry-go-round of a story. They noticed errors that leave me blushing. After all, I wrote the story about Legolas baking a cake, so I of all people should know better than to call it "Estel's cake"! Also, no matter how alliterative and repetitious the genealogies get, I know perfectly well that the Dúnadain were not really be so unimaginative as to name any of their sons "Aragorn son of Aragorn" (in spite of my jokes about Halbarad son of Halbarad son of Halbarad son of Halbarad).

Anyway, as per promise, I now owe _Joee_ and _Dragonfly_ a story apiece. Here's a reminder of the ground rules: No slash. Nothing above PG-13. No character deaths if they would be non-canonical (I will not kill off Elrond, Thranduil, Gimli, etc., etc., etc.). O.K. So throw your worst at me—within those parameters, of course. As for the rest of you, keep hunting—I'm sure to commit other literary offenses!

Legolas sat waiting upon his horse as Thranduil exchanged a few last words of farewell with the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. Anyone looking at the young Prince of Greenwood would have thought him remarkably composed, but in truth he was not. Outwardly, Legolas had taken the news calmly when Thranduil told him that Elladan and Elrohir would not be traveling with him to Mirkwood and that Haldir and his brothers would accompany him but would not be remain there more than a few days. Inwardly, however, Legolas was not so sanguine. He knew that he was sure to be the center of attention at the Great Hall. He had been well known in Lothlórien, albeit as Anomen, but he had had no special status other than as the foster-son of Elrond. Each time he had visited, he had dwelt in that golden land in a kind of comfortable anonymity. It would not be so in Mirkwood! As soon as his identity was revealed, he was sure to be gazed upon and speculated over by everyone. For weeks he had been assuming that he would be able to hide within the sanctuary provided by a cluster of friends and foster-kin, but now he knew that this was not to be so. For the most part, he was going to have to rely upon his own devices, bereft of his protective cordon of boon companions. This would not have been so bad if he had made friends in Mirkwood as a youth, but among the younger Elves he had become well acquainted only with Tawarmaenas. Most of his age-mates would be as strange to him as if he had never dwelt a day in Mirkwood.

A sigh briefly broke past Legolas' calm facade as he thought wistfully of his foster-brothers, who a week ago had sadly set out for Imladris. Gandalf had insisted that it would be easier for Legolas to make his own departure from Lothlórien if he were not leaving behind in that land two of those whom he counted amongst his most belovéd friends, and so the twins had reluctantly ridden hence. The final few hours that they had been able to spend as family had been bittersweet ones.

It had been evening, and Legolas and his two foster-brothers were in sole possession of Haldir's flet. Because the Imladris Elves would set out for Rivendell the next day, the Lórien Elves, without being asked, had made themselves scarce so that Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir could spend these last hours together without let or hindrance. At first there was little that they wanted to say to one another; merely being in one another's company was enough. And so they lay upon their pallets, gazing up at the stars. The Norland sky was remarkably clear that night.

"Look," said Elladan. "There is the constellation of Nénar the Waters. And yonder are the Great Jewel and Elemmírë the Elf-treasure."

"I can see both Borgil the Red Star and Luinil the Blue Friend," observed Elrohir.

As for Legolas, he spotted and pointed out Helluin, the star of Blue Ice, and Lumbar, the Star that Dwells in Gloom.

"You would pick out the two saddest stars in the sky," exclaimed Elladan, "but, see, there is Flammifer, the ship of Eärendil."

"Bearer of Gil-Estel, Star of Hope," said Elrohir.

"Aye," murmured Legolas, "sailing across the heavens, lit by a Silmaril, greatest of jewels. Sailing, sailing, forever sailing," he chanted.

Elrohir looked over at him, his attention captured by the melancholy in his friend's voice.

"Should you like to go sailing someday, Legolas?"

"I do not know," Legolas replied thoughtfully, "but some say that it will be the fate of all Elves to sail to the Uttermost West, back to the Undying Lands from whence we came."

"Not all Elves," Elladan pointed out. "Our uncle chose to become mortal, to remain in Middle Earth for ever. It was a bitter parting when it came time for our father to bid him farewell. Come dawn, we will say good-bye to you, but we will surely see you again, even if many years must pass first. But once our father parted from his brother, they never saw each other again."

"The choice of the Morningstar," said Elrohir.

"Aye," replied Elladan, "and our grandmother Galadriel says it will be the choice of the Evenstar. I do not know of whom she speaks, but she says that by a loss borne by some the kingship of Men may yet be restored."

Legolas knew the story both of Elrond's brother and of the Morningstar. Elrond and Elros had been born of a union between the Elf-maiden Elwing, daughter of Nimloth and Dior, and the mortal Eärendil, son of Idril and Tuor. This is why Elrond and Elros were known as Peredhil, Half-elven, and why they had confronted a choice few others faced. It had rested upon them to decide upon either of two paths: to retain immortality but someday forfeit Middle Earth or to become mortal and never leave the embrace of Arda. The two brothers had chosen different paths and thus had been sundered for all time. Elladan and Elrohir would one day be called upon to make the same choice, as would Arwen. Elrond's children were gifted with immortality as long as that Elf lord remained in Middle Earth. Once he made ready to depart for the Grey Havens, his children would have to decide whether to renounce either Arda or the gift of the Eldar—and mayhap either a father or a sibling.

The tale of Eärendil and Elwing and their sons Elros and Elrond was in a way a continuation of that of the Morningstar; for Dior, father of Elwing, had himself been born of the union between Beren, a mortal Man, and the Elf-Maiden Lúthien. She it was who had been called the Morningstar, the Nightingale who sang at dawn, at the hour twixt darkness and light.

Lúthien Tinúviel. Princess of Doriath. Lady of Enchanting Beauty and Daughter of Twilight. Although the descendant of Elwë-Thingol and Melian, she had chosen the Doom of Men in order to be united with her belovéd. In the eyes of the Elves, she had embraced the briefest of spans—the time allotted to Mankind—yet she had sworn that no matter how brief, she would rather live one life with her mortal lover than an eternity without him. "I have made my choice," she declared when her kinsmen begged her to reconsider her decision.

As Legolas thought of Elros and Elrond and Lúthien Tinúviel, his own plight became easier to bear. Elladan was right. True, it was bitter to be thus separated, but their parting would lack the finality that Lúthien faced when she renounced her immortal life—and thereby her kin—in to become one with Beren. And then, having forfeited elvenkind in order to embrace her mortal lover, she was doomed to be separated from him as well, for it was her fate to enter into the eternal sleep of Mankind. But some Men, and even some Elves, believed that one day Lúthien Tinúviel would be reunited with her belovéd. In Gondor it had been written in a book of wisdom that "In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! We are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory." Perhaps for neither Elf nor Man would any farewell last forever. And that was a comforting thought.

Elladan interrupted his reverie.

"Legolas, Elrohir and I each wish you to carry something to remember us by."

Elladan drew forth a blade from a scabbard at his belt and handed it to Legolas. Elrohir likewise drew forth a knife and laid it before his foster-brother. Legolas knew that these were not the weapons that the two usually carried. Instead, they were heirlooms of their House, brought out only upon special occasions. Legolas was well acquainted with their story and had been wondering why they had chosen to wear such valuable knives when no great Imladris ceremony was in the offing.

Awed, Legolas held up Elladan's knife and studied it.

"This blade is one of a matched pair once borne by Elwë-Thingol, your great-great-great grandfather. They passed through the hands of Lúthien, who gave them to her son Dior. He entrusted them to Eärendil when he espoused Dior's daughter Elwing, and then they passed on to the care of Elrond. Are you sure you wish to give them to me? They are a mighty gift."

"You will have need of them," Elrohir said simply.

"How come you to know that?" asked Legolas, gazing at him steadily.

Elladan answered.

"The Lady Galadriel this day vouchsafed us a vision in her Mirror. Elrohir is right: It is you who should carry these blades. You will make good use of them."

"Besides," added Elrohir, "they started out as a pair and should remain a pair. Of the three of us, you are by far the best at two-bladed combat and will use them most judiciously."

Legolas drew his own pair of knives from his quiver, where he preferred to keep them—"I can draw them hence faster than from any scabbard," he had explained to a dubious Glorfindel—and he handed one to Elladan, the other to Elrohir. They examined them appreciatively. Legolas was famous for the meticulous care he took of his weapons.

"Ah," joked Elrohir, "now I shall remember you whenever I slit an Orc throat."

Legolas grimaced.

"I should prefer you to think of me when you walk in the garden!"

"Oh," smirked Elladan, "lately Elrohir has had other things on his mind when he slips into the garden."

Legolas scowled.

"And I suppose Erestor does not follow _you_ into the bushes."

"Indeed he does not!" exclaimed Elrohir.

"But if he did," hooted Elladan, "Elrohir would give him an eyeful. Our brother has no shame!"

"Then it is good that Erestor does," rejoined Legolas.

"Actually," said Elrohir, lowering his voice, "I happened to come upon Erestor in the garden one day in the company of an Elleth visiting from Lórien, and you may be interested to learn—"

"I'm not list-en-ing," sang Legolas, covering his ears. "La la la tra lala!"

"—that they were not even holding hands!"

Legolas lowered his own hands.

"Oh," he said, a little disappointed.

"—because they had gone straight to kissing!"

"Elrohir!"

"It's true," declared Elladan. "I was up in a tree and saw it all."

"What were you doing up in a tree?"

"I was supposed to be Erestor's lookout, but no sooner had I settled myself comfortably when into the garden came Elrohir and his lady. I would say that they have been long acquainted, else Erestor is remarkably forward—and the lady, too, I might add."

"I wonder where our father holds his trysts," mused Elrohir. "Certainly not in the garden or we would have come upon him by now."

"Does no one ever think of staying within their chambers!?" huffed Legolas.

"Of course not, silly," Elrohir shot back. "That's the first place that anyone would look!"

"And therefore the last place," Legolas pointed out triumphantly.

"He's right," Elladan exclaimed. "No one would think to look for lovers in a bedchamber! It's just not done."

Elrohir's face was a study. The bedchamber! What a novel idea! Why had he never thought of it before?

A mourning dove called then, and the trio instantly sobered.

"Dawn is near," said Legolas quietly.

Elladan and Elrohir said nothing, but each shifted his pallet a little close to Legolas, who lay between them. The three again lay looking up at the stars.

"Gil-Estel is setting," observed Elrohir.

"Aye," said Elladan, "but it will rise again tomorrow eve."

"Yes," said Legolas, "as it ever has."

And they said no more until they heard voice of Haldir when he came to summon Elladan and Elrohir to break fast with the Elves departing for Rivendell.

That was morning a week ago, and now Legolas sat upon his mount. His father had completed his farewells and reining his horse about, cantered up to where Legolas waited by the side of Gandalf. At least, Legolas consoled himself, the wizard was with him. True, the presence of the wizard would not relieve him of the task of becoming acquainted with his future subjects, but at least he would have his old friend and mentor to counsel and comfort him. Furthermore, Gandalf would serve as a sort of buffer between Legolas and his father. Legolas had grown quite comfortable in the company of his father, but there were still moments of strain. He did not know if he would ever fly to Gandalf for solace after a tense exchange with his father, but it was nice to know that he _could_.

As the column of Elves began to move out, Legolas twisted about on his horse in an effort to catch sight of Haldir and his brothers. Celeborn had ordered them to bring up the rear—no doubt another effort, Legolas thought gloomily, to accustom him to their absence. His elders had considered everything to a nicety, weighing and measuring all options, and, while he knew they wished to spare him as much pain as possible, sometimes he wished that they would leave him and his friends to their own devices.

"We would hoist a final goblet of Dorwinion," he muttered, "sing through the night, and at dawn stagger off toward our respective designations. That way we would be too tired to grieve."

"And also too tired to adjust gracefully to your new situation," Gandalf broke in.

"I don't want to be graceful," said Legolas defiantly. "I want to go home. I want to be with my friends and kin."

"First check," thought Gandalf to himself. Aloud he said, "I had been under the impression that you _were_ returning home to friends and family."

Legolas stared balefully at the wizard.

"You _know _what I mean, Gandalf."

Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw Thranduil tactfully rein his horse about and withdraw further down the column. He felt instantly ashamed of himself, for he knew he was behaving as petulantly as an elfling.

Gandalf looked sideways at his young friend and perceived that the young Elf had already realized that he had spoken with little thought or care for the feelings of others.

"No need to pile on the words of wisdom," he said to himself. "And after all, he must have some occasion for expressing his frustration."

They rode side by side in silence for a time. Gandalf at last spoke.

"You may be interested to know that we will be stopping for at least one night at the dwelling of Beorn the Shape-changer. As we are being escorted by his ever-vigilant horses, it seemed the polite thing to do. Besides, it would provide an opportunity for you to meet a near neighbor and, it is to be hoped, a future ally."

"Will we?" exclaimed Legolas. "I know now 'twas Beorn's father protected me from wolves when I fled Mirkwood. I shall be glad of the opportunity to express my gratitude to his son."

"So you approve of our decision?" Gandalf said slyly.

Legolas could not help but laugh.

"Oh, very well. I concede that you often know what is best for me—as does my father _and_ Celeborn _and_ Galadriel _and_ Elrond _and_ Erestor _and_ Glorfindel. There now! Have I omitted anyone from the list?"

Gandalf laughed, too. Hearing them, Thranduil rejoined them and was rewarded by a cheery grin from his son.

"The storm has passed, Ada."

"No," corrected Gandalf. "That was no storm but a mere breeze. Storms and gales are yet in your future. But I have no doubt but that you shall weather them!"

They rode on, all as reasonably cheerful as could be expected. And now Legolas had Beorn to look forward to.

As they drew near Beorn's settlement, Legolas was as fascinated by the scene as Tawarmaenas had been. First they heard a loud humming and came upon the enormous bees that tirelessly collected pollen from the flowers that bloomed in the 'bee-pastures', returning thence to their hives to manufacture copious amounts of the delicious honey for which Beorn was famous. Next they came to the stand of tall oak trees and beyond them saw the wooden gate that permitted passage through the otherwise impenetrable thorn-hedge. Once inside, they admired the gardens and stables and sheds and hives and waited politely while one of Beorn's clever horses went to fetch him from the long wooden house where their master dwelt. When Beorn appeared, Thranduil saluted him respectfully.

"Master Beorn, I must thank you for your kindness in once again providing my folk with an escort. In our company is one for whom I particularly welcome such an escort. If I may, I would like to be allowed to introduce you to my son and heir, Prince Legolas."

Legolas stepped forward and bowed deeply.

Beorn inclined his head and then looked him up and down.

"So this is the princeling that my father encountered so many years ago. You are a little bigger than he described. You have eaten honey and bread enough, I wager—and some of it provided by my father."

"Indeed, yes, Master Beorn," replied Legolas. "Gandalf has told me 'twas your father not only saved me from wolves but gifted me with a generous breakfast. I should have been the wolves' breakfast else. I am very grateful."

Suddenly he knelt upon the ground and drew one of his blades, presenting it with its handle toward the Shape-changer.

"Little service, no doubt, will so great a Shape-changer think to find in a young Elf who has scarcely come of age; yet such as it is, I will offer it, in payment of my debt to your father."

Beorn was both amused and touched, and Thranduil was proud of his son's gracious behavior. As for Gandalf, his mind ran to the more practical.

"Good," he thought, "the nobility of this gesture will surely bind Beorn to Legolas even if Beorn's own innate generosity had not done so."

After being very well-entertained by Beorn and his servants for not one but three nights, Gandalf and the Elves left rather reluctantly to cover the final stage of their journey. They had been fair rolling in honey and bread and sweet butter and clotted cream, and Thranduil joked that he would have to be hoisted onto his horse if he stayed another day—"and that only if my steed will consent to bear me, which I doubt!" Legolas was reluctant to leave on two scores. First, he regretted parting from Beorn, whom he had accompanied each day to the bee-pastures, where Shape-changer and Elf had worked companionably together, to the great pleasure of both. Second, this day would bring them to Greenwood and the Great Hall. Legolas rode close to Gandalf as they departed Beorn's land, and he well nigh attached himself to the wizard like a burr as they drew near to the outlying trees of the forest of Northern Mirkwood. He also grew quieter with every mile that they traveled. As they had approached Thranduil's kingdom, all the Elves had been ordered to cover their hair, but Legolas had pulled his hood down so far that his face could be scarcely seen. Moreover, he rode with his head down. If his horse had not been elven, no doubt it would have stumbled and gone lame by now, so little heed did Legolas pay to it. Gandalf spared a kindly glance for his young companion.

"Legolas, do you remember how nervous you were before the first dance that you attended in the Hall of Fire?"

"Oh, yes. I did not want to go, and when it was plain that I was expected to be there, I wanted to find a way to avoid the attentions of the maidens."

"Yes. In fact, you asked me if I could cast a spell upon you to make you ugly for the evening."

Legolas grinned sheepishly.

"Yet in the end," continued Gandalf, "you enjoyed yourself greatly, if I recall correctly."

Legolas had to admit that this was true. As he thought of Malthenrî, whom he had met that night, he unconsciously touched his lips, until he saw Gandalf gazing at him in his inimitable fashion, his face serious but his eyes laughing. Quickly the Elf dropped his hand to his side. Gandalf laughed.

"I see," he said with mock gravity, "that Malthenrî gave you something to remember her by."

"Gandalf!" protested Legolas.

Now Gandalf laughed outright.

"Ah, Legolas, Legolas, how young you are!"

"Gandalf, at my next birthday, I will be—"

"No! No!" interrupted the wizard. "You are being too literal—hasn't Erestor taught you better than that!"

Legolas blushed a little.

"I am sorry, Gandalf. I suppose you mean that I am 'young' as in 'inexperienced'."

"In some ways, yes, you are naïve to the point of innocence—a remarkable accomplishment on your part, given that you have been consorting with Elladan and Elrohir these past several centuries."

"Especially Elrohir," opined Legolas.

"Ah, not so naïve after all if you understand the difference between Elrohir and Elladan! Elrohir is—how shall I say it?—

"Erestor says Elrohir is 'as lecherous as a sparrow'."

"Did he? Good for Erestor. Nice to see him applying his literary knowledge to everyday life—although I do not understand why sparrows are always tarred with the brush of licentiousness. I have always that that the behavior of snakes would provide a better metaphor for sensual indulgence, for they remain intertwined for hours."

"Gandalf!"

"My, my," teased the wizard. "Aren't we ejaculating frequently today!"

Thranduil rode up just then. He gazed quizzically at Legolas, whose face had turned a fiery red.

"Legolas, perhaps you should remove your cloak. You look a little overheated."

Legolas muttered something about needing to feel a breeze upon his face, wheeled his horse about, and galloped off.

Gandalf smiled.

"I think, Thranduil, that the heightened color of his face has its roots merely in the hot blood of youth."

"The hot blood of youth? Ah, yes, of course. That puts me in mind of something I have been meaning to ask you, Mithrandir. Whilst in Rivendell, did Legolas form any, ah, 'attachments'? I mean any _serious_ attachments of, oh, shall we say, a romantic nature?"

"That depends on how you define 'romantic', I suppose."

"I mean, he hasn't put himself in the position of being, well, beholden to one or another of the maidens. He is not under any obligation to someone in Rivendell? Or in Lórien, for that matter?"

"I do not know if one would say that Legolas was 'beholden' to her, but he was spending his endings in the company of one maiden in particular."

Thranduil turned a little pale.

"Spending his evenings?"

"Yes—always under the eye of Erestor, of course. In plain view. In bushes but well-trimmed ones."

Thranduil relaxed visibly.

"Ah, no encumbrances, then."

"Oh, I would not say that, Thranduil. The two seemed to be very fond of one another."

Thranduil waved his hand dismissively.

"Yes, yes. But they have not committed any indiscretion that would place any constraints upon Legolas in the matter of choosing a bride."

"As I have said, they seemed very fond of one another—that is a kind of constraint, is it not? And, if I may say so, Malthenrî is eminently well suited to be Legolas' bride—exceptionally, so, really. She is clever, spirited, and brave—just the sort of elleth who would be the equal of your clever, spirited, and brave son."

"Malthenrî? Malthenrî? I do not recall that name. Who is her father?"

"I doubt you'd recall his name either. But her uncle is Glorfindel.'

"The balrog-slayer?"

"The same."

"That's good. But her father? Her mother? Is he a lord? She a lady?"

"They are both noble in disposition and bearing—generous, honest, compassionate, and brave."

"But not noble in name or blood?"

"Noble in neither name nor blood. Merely noble in deed."

Thranduil failed to catch the wizard's sarcasm us he uttered that latter phrase.

"I am sure this Malthenrî is a very good sort of elleth, but she will not do as future Queen of the realm of Greenwood. To be honest, Mithrandir, I had had in mind Arwen. She would be a most suitable choice. In spite of her human blood, she has, for the most part, an excellent bloodline, with ancestors who are figures of legend."

"Arwen? Surely you jest. She is Legolas' sister."

"Foster-sister, yes, but there is no blood impediment."

"No blood impediment, true, but their feelings would forbid such an alliance."

"Have they not been separated for many years? Was not Arwen being raised by Galadriel in Lothlórien? Surely any brotherly or sisterly feelings they might have had have by now faded."

"I assure you that they have not. I have observed the two closely these past several weeks, and their feelings for each other are those of close kin. In this Galadriel concurs. They are siblings and thus may not wed."

"There is time yet," argued Thranduil. "In another century or so, they may come to look upon each other as no more than friends."

"In which case," Gandalf said dryly, "there would be no sense in trying to affiance them."

"Mithrandir!"

"I think I should advise you, Thranduil, that you may be borrowing trouble on two accounts. First, Legolas is hardly likely to stand still for an arranged marriage."

"But he is a prince, and princes cannot marry as they please! Moreover, _my_ marriage was arranged, and I liked my bride very well indeed—and she me!"

"That is true," agreed Gandalf, "but times change even for the Eldar. Moreover, you must concede that Legolas has had an upbringing very different from yours. He may not embrace practices that seemed quite unexceptional to you. But there is another objection. I said that you were borrowing trouble on two accounts. You must know that Arwen is destined for another."

"She has been troth-plighted already?"

"No, she has not. But she will be."

"She has been sounded out on the matter?"

"No, she has not. But she will be."

Perplexed, and a little angry, Thranduil stared at the wizard.

"Mithrandir, are you saying that a marriage is being arranged for Arwen without herknowledge? If so, how is it you can chide me for wishing to arrange a marriage for my son when you seem so unconcerned about one being arranged for Arwen!?"

The cross expression upon his face reminded Gandalf that beneath a genial exterior could still be found the old Thranduil, the irascible, stubborn King who thought nothing of clapping Dwarves into his dungeons if it served his purpose. So far the reunion between father and son had gone very well—surprisingly so, really—but here was a sign that the young Elf and the old one were bound to disagree at some point. Thranduil expected to be obeyed and did not like being thwarted. Inevitably, however, Legolas would someday refuse to act according to his father's wishes.

"But so it has ever been between father and son," Gandalf reminded himself. "Surely Thranduil and Legolas will not be driven apart by such disputes, which are only to be expected. Too strong is their desire to love and be loved."

For now, however, he gave over such thoughts and attempted to soothe Thranduil's injured feelings.

"I did not say that a marriage was being arranged. I said that she was destined for another. She does not know this, but Galadriel has seen it."

"In that mirror of hers, I suppose. Yet even she will say that the visions in that mirror are equivocal, subject to two or even three—nay! more—interpretations."

"That is true," agreed Gandalf, "but when all signs are taken into account, it is likely that she is correct on this score."

Unconvinced, Thranduil shook his head.

"This matter is not at an end, Mithrandir. I will not give up all hope of making such an alliance for my son on the basis of pictures someone fancies she has seen in a basin of water."

"Your words are intemperate, my friend. Galadriel is no mere 'someone'."

"True, but as Arwen is her granddaughter, perhaps her judgment in this matter has been affected."

"As Legolas is your son," Gandalf shot back, "perhaps _yours_ has been."

"Well hit," Thranduil conceded. "Nevertheless, I will bring up this matter at a later time."

Gandalf bowed slightly.

"Of course, Thranduil. That is your prerogative, both as king and as Legolas' father."

To himself, however, Gandalf exulted. To an Elf, 'later' could be much later indeed, and all that was required was a decade. By the end of that time, Estel would have grown to manhood, and Elrond would at last recall Arwen to Rivendell. Dúnadan and Elleth would meet—oh, yes, he could see it in his mind's eye. They would encounter one another in the woods of Imladris—yes, that is where it would begin, on the greensward among the white stems of the birches—and neither would know the other until they had each plighted troth in their own hearts. Then let Thranduil engage in his best machinations—it would do him no good! As for Legolas, the Lady Galadriel was not sure of his matrimonial future. For his part, however, Gandalf, believed that he would never espouse Malthenrî, even though he had brought up her name to Thranduil as a possible match for Legolas. No, the wizard suspected that so steeped was Legolas in the bonds of friendship between warriors, and such would be the demands upon him, that he would always be in the company of his comrades. Thranduil would be disappointed, but not every Elf need marry. The King would still be assured of an heir, for Tawarmaenas would surely at length choose one of the many Ellith who swarmed about him at every opportunity, much to his bewilderment and discomfiture! As he had desired, that young Elf would never ascend to the throne himself, but his son would.

Shortly after the King and wizard had finished sparring over Legolas' marital status, their party arrived at last at the Great Hall. All dismounted, and eager hostlers led away horses for a well-earned serving of oats and hay. Behind Gandalf and Mithrandir assembled the Lothlórien Elves, Legolas at their head. He was flanked protectively by Haldir, Orophin, and Rúmil, who, seeing that a 'rear guard' was no longer necessary, thought they might be allowed to abandon that post and advance to the front of the company.

Gilglîr looked eagerly past Thranduil and Gandalf, at the Lórien Elves who stood quietly, their faces obscured by their hoods. He tried to peer underneath their head coverings as best he could. There! That one! A little smaller and slenderer than the others, and Gilglîr could not see the color of his hair. But his eyes—they were unmistakable. The Seneschal caught the young Elf's gaze for a moment, and the two exchanged smiles before Legolas glanced down self-consciously.

"He has not forgotten me," thought Gilglîr happily, "although he feels a trifle shy. I shall have to be patient—he may be a bit standoffish at first. After all, he was never one to be boisterous—although Thranduil has had some tales to tell about him in his letters!"

Standing by Gilglîr's side, Tawarmaenas had been equally eager to pick out Legolas from amongst the company of foreign Elves. He, too, caught Legolas' eye, and the two young Elves smiled happily at one another. Gilglîr was pleased to notice that Tawarmaenas was able to hold Legolas' gaze considerably longer than Gilglîr had been able to.

"Good," he thought to himself. "There must be no bad blood between these cousins. Surely there will be some, Men or Elves, who will try to ingratiate themselves into Legolas' good graces by insinuating that Tawarmaenas would have stolen his place in his father's heart and on his father's throne. Others will try to use Tawarmaenas as a stalking horse, implying to him that he has been ill-used—fawned over by the King only to be cast aside when a more eligible heir made his appearance. I do not think either will be susceptible to such blandishments, but if the two present a united front from the beginning, so much the better."

Tawarmaenas was so excited that he had almost forgotten his duty. Prompted by Gilglîr, Tawarmaenas now stepped forward and bowed deeply to both Thranduil and Gandalf.

"My Lord," he said, addressing the King, "all is in readiness for both you and your guests."

"You have prepared suitable accommodations for all?"

"I trust so. When we received word that you would be accompanied by some of our Lothlórien kinsmen, Gilglîr ordered the raising of a fine pavilion, for he said that they would be more comfortable underneath a canopy of cloth than within the carven walls of the Great Hall."

Thranduil turned now to his Seneschal.

"That was well done, Gilglîr. And you have likewise made arrangements for the housing of our old friend Mithrandir?"

"A room within the Great Hall, near the family rooms, for we know of old that he is comfortable in any lodging, whether within or without."

Thranduil dropped his voice to a near whisper.

"The prince's room?"

"Has been dusted, but, as you have bidden, nothing has been changed or removed."

Thranduil nodded.

"Excellent. Escort the Lothlórien Elves with honor to their pavilion, and see that they are provided with all that is needful."

Legolas watched wistfully as Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, and the other Lórien Elves were led away to the pavilion. He would have loved to have spent one last night in their company, partly for that reason alone—their company—but partly because he would rather be outdoors than in the Great Hall, which, grand as it was, was partially dolven and therefore did not admit as much light and air as would a pavilion. He had been given no choice in the matter, however, and he knew that from now on his father would try to make many such decisions on his behalf. Some he would abide, but he was resolved that he would, if necessary, remind his father that, even though he was young, he was nonetheless of age and did wish to be consulted on matters pertaining to him. Now, however, following close behind Mithrandir, as if he were that wizard's attendant, he slipped as surreptitiously as he could into the Great Hall. He could feel Tawarmaenas' eyes upon him, but it appeared as if everyone else's attention was for the time being riveted upon king and wizard. Good. At the very least he was to be granted another day's respite.

At last they reached the king's private chamber, and all servants were dismissed. At a nod from Gandalf, Legolas at last pushed the hood back from his face. Tawarmaenas didn't waste a minute but launched himself at Legolas as if the two were still elflings.

"Laiqua! Laiqua!" he babbled, "I _knew_ you hadn't been gobbled up by any nasty old spider—you were much too clever for that. You left that hair on purpose, didn't you—to throw everyone off the trail!?"

"I wasn't _that_ clever, Tawarmaenas. I blundered into that spider's web quite by accident. I managed to free myself, but you may be sure that I did not intend to part with any of my hair. It was torn from my head by the roots as I struggled to free myself, and I assure you that it was very painful!"

"Oh, well," said Tawarmaenas, his adulation of his cousin undimmed, "it was still extraordinarily clever of you to make it all the way to Imladris. You were very young, after all. I am sure you have had many adventures, several centuries worth at least. And I am going to make you tell me each and every one!"

"If you try to make me," teased Legolas, "I shall run away! Oh," he exclaimed, catching sight of his father's stricken face, "I am sorry, Ada. I should not have said that."

"Indeed, you should not have," chided Gandalf. "As for his stories," he said, turning to Tawarmaenas, "don't forget to ask him about the number of times he has had to be rescued. Once from a badger hole, I am told—and he was quite naked to boot!"

Legolas colored, but Tawarmaenas stoutly defended him.

"Oh, that's alright," he declared. "The one time I was caught in a spider web, I was naked myself."

"How did you manage that?" asked Legolas.

"I had gone swimming, and, as the day was very hot, I hadn't troubled to put my clothes back on. So there I was, in my natal garment, stuck in a web. I do believe, though, that my predicament may have kept the spiders from immediately attacking and poisoning me. I swear that they first gathered together to laugh at my plight. There certainly was a very odd sort of hissing going on, a spider version of chortling, I think. In any event, by the time the nasty arachnids had recovered their equanimity, Gilglîr had tracked me down and drove them off. He told me he'd once saved himself from spiders by slipping out of his clothes and leaving them fast in the net, so he advised me against frolicking about the forest unclothed. And I never did again, you may be sure!"

They all had a good laugh. Then Thranduil brought the little conclave to a close.

"Speaking of clothing, Legolas, in your room you will find some garments laid out for you. You will no doubt wish to change before we dine. Do you remember the way to your chamber, or would you like one of us to accompany you?"

"I think I remember the way, Ada."

"Good. We will give you a little while to get your bearings, and then we will come by your room to make sure you have everything that is needful."

"Thank you, Ada."

Legolas arose and bowed to the King and inclined his head slightly to Gandalf and Tawarmaenas. Then he set out in search of his old room. He found it very easily, for, to his surprise, he remembered the layout of the Hall in great detail. As he made his way to his room, he was relieved that he encountered no one. Gilglîr had ordered that all retainers retire to the public areas of the Hall.

When Legolas arrived at his old chamber, he slowly pushed open the door and cautiously stepped inside. As he looked about, he saw that it was as he had remembered. There was the bed that had been too tall for him to mount without something to stand upon. Each night he had dragged yonder chair over to the bed; each morning his tutor, with an exclamation of impatience, had pulled it back over to the table. And there was the wardrobe in which he hid the volumes that he purloined from the library because his tutor did not feel that he could be trusted with any but the least valuable of books. He opened the door to the wardrobe and moved aside a pile of leggings that were now much too small for him. To his surprise, there lay the last several books that he had been reading before he fled Greenwood. Nothing had been removed, although it was plain that the room had been dusted, and clean water filled a jug that sat beside the basin at which he had once washed his face and hands before meals.

Upon the bed lay a pair of leggings and a tunic. The latter garment was carefully embroidered, although in an old-fashioned style. Legolas picked it up and thoughtfully ran his hands across the threads that outlined a horse. Then he heard a knock and looked up to see Thranduil and Gandalf standing together in the open door.

"Will those garments do, Legolas?" asked Thranduil anxiously.

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Legolas. "I like them very much."

"Ah, good," said Thranduil. "Then Mithrandir and I will leave you to prepare for the evening repast. Tonight we dine privately. You and I and Mithrandir. Gilglîr will join us, as well as Tawarmaenas, of course. Oh, yes, there also will be someone there who will be very happy to see you clad in those garments, for she it was who made them."

"Nana!" cried Legolas. Then he looked guiltily toward Thranduil. "Edwen Nana," he corrected himself.

Thranduil shook his head. "Nay, Legolas, she is surely your Nana, just as Elrond is surely your Ada."

"You truly do not mind that I call both you and Elrond 'Ada'?

"You are a treasure, Legolas, one of greater worth than all the gems in Smaug's hoard. That dragon's wealth was meant to be shared in the end, and so are you. I think you were born to play your part in a fellowship greater than that defined by kinship alone."

Gandalf smiled and said softly, more to himself than anyone else, "I have been thinking that lo! these many centuries. He is destined to fill an important role in some great endeavor. Much is still hidden from me, but of that I am sure."

Telling Legolas that they would await him nearby, Thranduil and Gandalf left him alone so that he could change into his new tunic and leggings,. As Legolas tried on the clothes, he marveled that they fit him so well. He did not know that Thranduil had sent Edwen Nana a letter describing his proportions as they had been carefully measured by the seamstress at Rivendell who kept him in clothes. Of course, so strong a feeling did his Nana have for her nursling that no doubt she could have intuited the proper dimensions. Still, Thranduil had taken care to think of everything that might ease his son's return to the Great Hall, and providing him with garments that would please him was one of the first matters that occupied his mind.

After Legolas had dressed, he went into the corridor, where he found, as promised, that Thranduil and Gandalf awaited him. The three returned to the King's private chamber, still encountering no one.

Thranduil was speaking to Legolas as he stepped into the chamber, so he was looking to the side and did not see the approaching whirlwind.

"Yes, Ada, I would be honored to give the elflings archery less—oof!"

"Laiqua! You have grown into a warrior, as you always said you would! But you are still my little Laiqua!"

"Nana—I am too—oof!"

"I _knew_ that you were coming back—never believed that you'd been caught by any big lug of a spider. Not my Laiqua, so quick and nimble you always were!

"Thank you, Nana, but I am too ol—ai-yeeeh!!"

"Now you must let me measure you properly. I am sure that the Imladris seamstress did the best she could, but, well, never mind. Let me see. Your inner leg—"

"Not now, Nana! You can't measure me there right now. I-I-I'm _hungry_!"

It was a stroke of brilliance. His Edwen Nana immediately forgot about the state of his wardrobe.

"Hungry," she sputtered, shooting indignant looks at Thranduil. "Hungry! And you, sir," she added, addressing Gandalf, "_you_ needn't smile. A great wizard you are said to be, but you couldn't divine that the poor lad was hungry? Pah! So much for _your_ magic."

"I think I had better send for the food at once," said Gilglîr hastily as the incensed Elleth advanced upon Gandalf, who looked more alarmed than he ever had when confronted by Orc or dragon. Fortunately, the food was not long in coming, for it was being kept warm near at hand upon a brazier.

Only one servant bore the plates into the chamber—the fewer who came near Legolas, the longer they would be able to maintain his privacy until he felt quite comfortable in the Great Hall. The chosen servant had been keeping several guest chambers. Once, however, she had tended a room in the family wing, but either Thranduil had forgotten this fact or he never knew it. Now, eyes downcast, the maid moved about the table apportioning out generous servings to all. As she approached Legolas, she could not forbear glancing up at him, for he was a stranger and therefore merited some curiosity. When she did so, she started and nearly dropped the platter she held.

"Your pardon, my Lord," she exclaimed, addressing the King. "This young Elf put me in mind of someone whom I have not seen in a long time."

"Did he," said the King, trying to maintain a casual air. "How interesting. You may resume serving the others."

She did so, all the while stealing glances at Legolas. As for that young Elf, feeling himself scrutinized, he became nervous. Helplessly, he began to scratch at the birthmark on the inside of his right arm. Why, he wondered, did it have to itch now, of all times? He tried to be discrete about it, but at last, desperate, he pushed up the sleeve of his tunic in order to reach the aggravating spot. Watching him, Gandalf felt for the unfortunate young prince. The wizard himself had his own birthmark, and he was experiencing a kind of sympathetic itching at that spot. Fortunately, his birthmark was not as accessible as the Elf's, else he might have been reduced to scratching his as well. As it was, he gritted his teeth and tried to look dignified.

Legolas at last vanquished the itching and was on the point of pulling down his sleeve when the servant cast one of her surreptitious glances upon him. She shrieked and dropped the soup tureen she was now holding. Since she was standing next to Thranduil at the time, he was showered with chicken broth and bombarded with dumplings as the tureen tumbled to the floor.

"Laiqua! Laiqua! Little Prince Laiqua! I know that mark! Don't you remember me? I used to put your bed to rights each morning. First time ever I did so, I discovered that little stuffed toy you put such stock in. A horse, I think it was. Do you remember? I showed you where to hide it, didn't I?"

"Yes," said Legolas, smiling now. "I _do_ remember. That was the very first morning I ever awoke in the Great Hall, and the previous day had been _dreadful_. I do not know what I would have done if, on top of everything else, I had lost my Roch. I had gone to such trouble to hide it from my tutor when he sorted through my kit. Ada," Legolas lamented, turning toward his father, "the tutor discarded nearly everything that I brought with me. And the garments that he did allow me to keep, he took away once new clothing had been sown for me. He said my old tunics and leggings were not appropriate for the son of the King of Greenwood. But I was fond of them. They had been made for me by Nana!"

"Never you mind," said that worthy seamstress stoutly. "I'll sew plenty more for you. And just let that tutor try to lay hands on them!"

Thranduil cleared his throat, but he, too, was smiling.

"Yes, well, Edwen Nana, I am glad to hear that. But right now," he added, turning to the serving maid, "I am the one in need of garments, for mine are rather wet."

"Oh, I am so sorry, my Lord," exclaimed the servant contritely. "Please pardon my clumsiness. I'll just fetch some towels straightway."

With that, she scurried to the door. As she reached it, Thranduil suddenly realized that she ought to be sworn to secrecy about the presence of Legolas in the Great Hall.

"Madam," he shouted after her, "have a care not to mention—oh, bother! She's gone, and the news will be spread throughout the Hall by nightfall—from the laundry to the kitchen, from the pantry to the wine cellar!"

Gandalf was unalarmed. He picked up his wine goblet and sipped from it.

"Well, well," he said as he replaced the vessel. "That may not be so bad an outcome. There was always the possibility that some evil-minded person would spread it about that someone was trying to insinuate an imposter onto the throne. This maid's excited testimony may help forestall such an attempt. Her sincerity is so patent, and both her knowledge and integrity no doubt unimpeachable. Edwen Nana here would testify as to Legolas' identity, but she has not seen him since he was five. This maid is a more recent witness. Tell me, Legolas, is there anyone else who would have seen your birthmark?"

"The Archery Master," replied Legolas, "and the Tailor and the Seamstress."

"And I saw it many times," added Tawarmaenas, "whenever we went swimming or bathed or changed together."

"Excellent! Well, Legolas, I am afraid that your subjects will be knocking upon your door a little earlier than we had planned, but you will be up to the challenge. And you will have Thranduil, Gilglîr, Tawarmaenas, and Edwen Nana by your side. And one very enthusiastic serving maid, I might add."

"And you as well, isn't that so?" asked Legolas anxiously.

"Well, yes, for a few days. Before we left, I heard a little news from Orophin that will make it necessary for me to return a trifle earlier to Lothlórien than I would have liked. It seems that a creature I needs must capture has been spotted."

"You never mentioned that to me," cried Legolas, distressed.

"That is true," allowed Gandalf, "for I did not want to add unnecessarily to your apprehension. But tell me truly, Legolas, now you are here, does the Great Hall seem so fearsome that you must keep an old wizard by your side in order to endure it?"

Legolas looked about at the anxious faces of his friends and kinsmen. After a few minutes, he smiled a little.

"No, I do not think it will be so fearsome a place."

"I thought not," beamed Gandalf. "And now, if you will excuse me, all these centuries of Elf-sitting have left me rather tired. I have been needing a carefree, undisturbed rest this past millennium, and woe betide the Elf who tries to stand in my way as I go in search of it. He will find himself with the beard of a Dwarf and the hairy feet of a Periannath. Tawarmaenas! Don't-even-think-it!"

From the expression on that young Elf's face, it was clear that he had been appropriately quelled by Gandalf's withering look. The wizard arose and strode out of the room, thumping his staff upon the floor as he went.

"Well," exclaimed Edwen Nana, "what an old codger! But now he's gone," she added briskly, "I can get on with measuring you properly, Laiqua."

"But, Nana," said 'Laiqua' quickly. "I'm ever so tired!"

Once again Edwen Nana turned instantly solicitous.

"Oh, you poor dear," she crooned. "The clothes can wait. You must go to bed at once! Would you like me to warm you some milk?"

"Um, mulled wine would be nice."

"Mulled wine! This comes of letting the lad run off to Imladris. Outlandish customs they do keep, or so I have heard."

Legolas adopted a wistful expression and a plaintive tone.

"Ah, but I have become accustomed to their ways, and it will be hard on me if I must adopt Greenwood habits all at once."

"Of course, Laiqua," Edwen Nana agreed obligingly. "I shall mull you some wine at once. Is it honey you want in it?"

"Yes, if you please. And cloves."

Edwen Nana arose and hurried from the room.

"Nana," observed Legolas after she had left the chamber, "always said that if one had to chose between 'doting' and 'duty', 'duty' ought to have the priority. But," he added, laughing, "I must admit that this principle of hers was more honored in the breach than in the observance!"

Thranduil laughed.

"Still, if I were you, Legolas, I would not count upon her indulgence lasting out the week!"

"Good!" exclaimed Legolas. "I could not bear being coddled continually as if I were an elfling—although the mulled wine is a nice touch," he added thoughtfully.

He arose from the table.

"Ada, I spoke truthfully when I said that I was tired. May I be dismissed?"

"Yes. Is there anything you need or want—other than the mulled wine, of course?"

"No, I believe I have everything that I require for the time being."

"You remember where my chamber lies, do you not? If you need anything in the night, do not hesitate to come to me. And, Tawarmaenas, will you go with your cousin and show him how to find your room? If I am absent from my chamber, he should come to you, for it might not be wise to disturb Mithrandir this night!"

"A bearded Elf," said Tawarmaenas. "I should have liked to have seen that."

"Well, I for one have had enough adventures with the hair on my head," declared Legolas. "I do not want to contend with facial hair as well!"

The two young Elves bowed to the King and saluted Gilglîr and then set out for Legolas' room. Along the way, Tawarmaenas showed his cousin where his room lay.

"This was not the room you formerly dwelt in," observed Legolas.

"No. You may remember that when I first came to the Great Hall, my room was placed far from the King's. I do not think he wished to see me or even to be reminded of my presence. But when we returned from the battle for Dol Guldur, he asked whether I would mind taking up residence in one of the rooms next to his chamber. He would like _you_ to move into the room on the other side of his chamber, but he means to ask your permission first. He thought that in the beginning you might feel more comfortable in your old room."

"That was very thoughtful of him," said Legolas gratefully.

"Do you think you shall want to move?" asked Tawarmaenas hopefully. "It would be nice for all of us to be situated so near to one another. And if you are worrying about privacy, he has always respected mine."

Legolas nodded.

"Very well, then. In a few weeks, once the excitement has died down, I will change rooms."

"Ah, good!"

By then they had arrived at Legolas' old room, there to be met triumphantly by Edwen Nana, who bore a tray upon which sat not one but two mugs of mulled wine.

"I suppose," she said, making a show of grumbling, "that it wouldn't do to let one of you drink this foul concoction without similarly indulging the other. It will be a mercy if it don't stunt your growth, the two of you."

"But Nana," said Legolas patiently, "we're all grown."

"_I_ don't know that," she retorted. "And now I'm not like to know, am I?" she added tartly. "Well, I've always tried to do my duty, but I suppose there will be no stopping people from doting on you."

"Goodnight, Nana," laughed Legolas. "And I love you whether you are doting or doing your duty."

After bestowing numerous kisses upon both cousins—"and here be a few extra to tide you over 'til morn"—Edwen Nana departed, no doubt to contemplate designs for the numerous tunics that she proposed to sew over the coming centuries. The two cousins entered the room and perched side by side upon Legolas' bed, sipping their mulled wine in companionable silence. Legolas was struck by the fact that, now the initial excitement of the reunion was over, he and his cousin did not feel it necessary to rattle on incessantly. He thought of the number of times that he had likewise sat quietly with Elladan and Elrohir or with Haldir and his brothers—or, yes, with Elrond or Glorfindel or Erestor or even Gandalf. Sometimes kinship and friendship are so strong that no words need be spoken.

"Gandalf is right," he thought. "Truly the Great Hall is not so fearsome a place, and I will enjoy being with Tawarmaenas and Gilglîr and Nana and my father. And no doubt there will be others here whom I will come to admire or even love. Had I not returned, I would never have known the pleasure to be found in their company. I am twice blessed, for I will be able to know and love the Elves of Rivendell as well as those of Greenwood—nay! thrice blessed, for I must not forget Lothlórien! Perhaps instead of regretting my separation from my foster-family, I should be grateful that they were in fact vouchsafed me as family in addition to the ties to which I was entitled by birth. I have been deprived of nothing but instead gifted with more than most Elves are granted!"

This was quite a new way of looking at things, and Legolas suddenly felt a surge of excitement. He realized that he had just entered upon a new adventure, one in which he had everything to gain and nothing to lose. How did the song go? "Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver but the other gold." Was this not what he indeed was doing? Making new friends but not abandoning the old? He drained the last drop of mulled wine and found himself grinning impishly at his cousin.

"So, Tawarmaenas, what do the young Elves do around here when there are no Orcs to battle?"

Tawarmaenas grinned back at him, his mischievous face a mirror of his cousin's.

"Lately we have taken up barrel riding on the Forest River. Got the idea from a party of Dwarves that came through here several years ago. Drives the Lake-men positively wild because they are used to their barrels arriving roped together neatly into rafts. Instead, they arrive willy-nilly, with young Elves astride whooping and singing. The Men of Esgaroth have to send out boats to gather them together from the far corners of the Long Lake. Occasionally an Elf or two will hide _in_ a barrel, and the Lake-men will grumble at its weight as they wrestle it to shore. Then the Men pry off the lid, and out pops the Elf! But anyone who does that has to be a fast runner, for one time an Elf was caught and the Men cut his hair!"

"Oh, _that's_ nothing," declared Legolas. "Happens to me all the time!"

"We also have a great deal of fun lobbing stones into spider webs. Every time a stone hits a web, out rushes an arachnid, convinced from the way her net is shaking that there must be a prodigious dinner waiting for her!"

"I think," said Legolas solemnly, "that my father will be beside himself if I go anywhere _near_ a spider web."

"Aye, that's likely true," agreed Tawarmaenas. "Well," he said, dropping his voice conspiratorially, "there is a cave on a bluff above the pool where the maidens like to bathe. Would you like to explore that orifice, um, peer into that nook? No! I mean that crack—oh, burzum! _you_ know what I am trying to say!"

"Tawarmaenas," laughed Legolas, "it would warm Elrohir's heart to hear you speak so. He was afraid that I would be bricked up in some sort of hermitage. But, tell me, from whom did you learn the word 'burzum'?"

"From Mithrandir. He singed his beard trying to light a fire. Pointed his staff the wrong direction, apparently. You've never seen anything until you've seen a wizard dancing about with his beard afire!"

Legolas fell over onto his back, so heartily did he laugh. At that moment they heard something hard knocking upon the wall. Instantly they fell silent.

"Tawarmaenas," whispered Legolas, "in what room is Gandalf quartered?"

"That one," Tawarmaenas answered softly, gesturing toward the wall, which, stone though it was, seemed to be vibrating from the blows that were falling upon it.

"I think," whispered Legolas, "that perhaps I ought to turn in. I will see you tomorrow, cousin."

"Aye. Would you like me to accompany you to the dining hall? I suspect my uncle will give over any effort to keep you hidden since by now your presence will have been bruited about by the serving maid."

"Yes. No doubt you are right. I would indeed appreciate having you at my side when I enter the dining hall, for it is sure to be packed with both the friendly and the curious."

"Until tomorrow then, cousin."

"Good-night, Tawarmaenas. And thank you for your kind welcome."

"Thank _you_ for returning," Tawarmaenas replied fervently.

After Tawarmaenas had departed, Legolas pulled off his tunic and leggings and gratefully slipped on the nightdress that had mysteriously appeared in his absence—judging from the embroidery, it was another sartorial creation by his talented Nana. With a sigh of contentment, Legolas slipped under the quilt. Then he grimaced. He was lying upon a lump. He sat up and searched about under the bedding for the offending object. At length he pulled forth—a worn stuffed horse.

"Oh, Roch!" he cried, delighted. He hugged it to his chest as if he were a little elfling again. And he was still hugging it hours later when Thranduil stole into his room. The King had been unable to sleep, so excited he was to have his son safe under his roof. Now he stood by his bedside, smiling down upon the young prince. After awhile, he was joined by Gandalf, who had known perfectly well that the King would suffer from insomnia.

"Mithrandir," whispered Thranduil, "there is something I have been longing to do for many weeks. Do you suppose he would mind if I tucked in his covers?"

"He is asleep," Gandalf whispered back. "How could he possibly mind?"

"If he were awake, would he mind?"

"He would of course profess himself to be indignant at being treated like an elfling, but, no, I do not think he would really mind."

Thranduil leaned down to pull up the quilt and tucked it under his son's chin. For good measure, he kissed him upon the forehead and brushed a few stray hairs behind his ear. Then he surveyed him with satisfaction.

"There, that should do. He is quite warm and safe."

"And now that you have reassured yourself of that fact, for the love of Arda will you go to bed? I can sense your agitation throughout these chambers, and it is keeping me awake!"

"Why, Mithrandir," teased Thranduil, "you said you were done with Elf-sitting!"

"I would be," growled the wizard, "if all you Elves would grow up."

"Once again, well hit," said Thranduil. "You have been in very fine form these last few days, my friend."

"But I will not be in fine form tomorrow if I do not get some sleep."

With that the two friends slipped from the room. When they had left, Legolas allowed his eyes to come back into focus. For a long time he lay awake, smiling contentedly. Meanwhile, in the adjacent chamber, Gandalf felt a soothing sensation of joy wash over him, and, sharing the happiness of his young friend, he allowed Legolas to lull him into that long-awaited sleep.


	29. Epilogue

**Folks, I am capping this story with the epilogue for the time being because, as many of you know, I have been continuing the tale in other stories.  In fact, I owe a bunch of people stories who took me up on my 'catch me if you can' challenge and pointed out major errors in any of the last four stories.**

**_Dragonfly: _You caught me referring to 'Aragorn son of Aragorn' instead of 'Aragorn son of Arathorn'.  It is true that it is said 'the child is father of the man', but that was pushing the proverb a little too far, I guess.  Anyway, you have already had your story, but just wanted to include you in the list.**

**_Joee_****_:_ I owe you for pointing out that I referred to 'Estel's cake' instead of 'Legolas' cake' and also for catching the fact that in one chapter Estel's hair was shaved off but the next chapter Edwen Nana washed his hair!  You have already put in your request for a tale in which an elfling Anomen has his first encounter with a Troll.  I will start on it shortly.**

**_Arwen Undomiel:_ You pointed out that at one point I typed Glorfindel when it should have been Gandalf.**

**_Tinwiest_****_: _You found the same error that_ Arwen Undomiel _did.**

**_Sekhet_****_: _You caught me making Elros the contemporary of Estel, which would make no sense whatsoever.    If you go back and check, you will find that the passage has now been rewritten to put all references to Elros into the past tense!**

**_Farflung_****_: _You found the same error that _Sekhet_ did.**

**_Kelly Kragen: _You caught the fact that in one chapter Estel has no hair but in the next Edwen Nana washes and combs it.**

**_Silver badger: _You caught the same error as _Kelly Kragen_.**

**O.K., so, not counting _Dragonfly_, seven people get to send in plot requests.  Ai!  I hereby temporarily suspend the 'catch me if you can' challenge until I respond to all seven plot requests, starting with Joee's!  Then—if I am not suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome at that point!—I may reinstitute the challenge.**

Thranduil looked up as the herald announced the Ernil Legolas. His son paused briefly to acknowledge the bows of the courtiers; then he strode gracefully and forcefully to the head table, bowed to his father, and confidently took his seat at his father's right hand, leaning forward slightly to smile at Gilglîr, who sat to his father's left.

"Legolas, ion-nîn."

"Yes, Adar-nîn."

"You have forgotten your diadem."

Legolas tried to look serious. "No, Ada, I have not **forgotten** my diadem."

"You have not?" Thranduil pretended not to understand Legolas's meaning. "But, ion-nîn, you are not wearing it."

"Nevertheless, Ada, I did not forget about it in the least."

Gilglîr shook his head in amusement. Some variation of this exchange took place every night.

Thranduil looked his son up and down appraisingly.

"Legolas, ion-nîn."

"Yes, Adar-nîn."

"You are not wearing your new tunic."

Legolas could no longer suppress a mischievous grin. "Ada, I am indeed wearing my new tunic."

"Legolas, your new tunic is decorated with pearls and gems. This one is merely embroidered."

"Yes, Ada. My Edwen Nana finished it only last night. So, you see, it too can be called my new tunic."

"Does your Edwen Nana have nothing with which to occupy her time other than to embroider you an endless supply of tunics…and **what** is that creature!?"

"Ada, that is Annabon the Oliphaunt. Edwen Nana has made an entire line of them circling above the hem. See how each uses its trunk to hold the tale of the Annabon that precedes it? But, truly, Ada, she says that I am not hard enough on my clothes, so she does not have enough mending to fill the hours. Therefore, she must use her time to sew me new tunics instead."

His son needed new tunics because he was not wearing out his old ones? Thranduil did not even attempt to analyze the logic of this assertion. "Well, for the love of the Valar, put a few rents in your garments, will you!?"

"I will do my best, Ada," said Legolas with pretend obedience. "But I have so few opportunities to tear my tunics and leggings," he added, alluding to an ongoing disagreement between father and son.

Thranduil frowned. He did not want his son to leave his side, but both Gilglîr and Legolas were now badgering him on the subject well nigh on a daily basis. He also had received repeated letters from both Celeborn and Elrond, letters that were diplomatic but forthright. Legolas was no Elfling. Mirkwood—for it was Greenwood no more—needed his skills as an archer; moreover, Legolas should be acquiring as much experience as possible, both as a fighter and as a leader. Even Galadriel had sent a missive, reminding him that Legolas, as a small Elfling, had alone and on foot journeyed from Thranduil's kingdom to the realm of Imladris. He had, she wrote, faced many foes and overcome many obstacles. Surely he could be entrusted with the leadership not only of routine patrols but even of sorties responding to Orc incursions. He was, she opined, more than capable. Indeed, she hinted, Legolas's father perhaps did not appreciate that his son had escaped a particularly grievous peril whilst relying solely on his own devices. Always so enigmatic, that Lady! Still, in spite of all arguments, Thranduil could not yet bring himself to allow Legolas to accompany the warriors. Ai! He had lost Legolas once already; he could not bear the thought of losing him again. But each day that passed brought news of more assaults on Elvendom in general and Mirkwood in particular. The time of Legolas's riding could not be delayed much longer.

A hubbub at the door interrupted Thranduil's thoughts. A warrior was admitted. The Elf was dirty, bloody, and disheveled. Clearly he did not bring good news.

"My Lord, a large company of Orcs has barely been driven back. We suffered many casualties—dead, wounded, and prisoners."

Thranduil, as King, fought to keep the dismay from his face.

"Get yourself to the healer, warrior. Gilglîr …" he began, looking to his Seneschal.

"But my Lord, I have more to report."

Thranduil turned back to the warrior. The King was startled at being interrupted but forbearing because of the warrior's urgent tone.

"My Lord, once the Orcs were driven back, we discovered that the creature Gollum had vanished, his guards captured or slain. In truth, we believe that the attack may have been undertaken to secure his escape."

This was grievous news indeed. Thranduil had given Mithrandir his solemn oath that his people would guard that creature with the greatest of vigilance. They had failed in their duty. Mithrandir must be told at once so that he could take whatever steps he deemed necessary to repair the damage—if reparable it was.

"Gilglîr, we must send word to Rivendell at once. It may be that Mithrandir is there. If not, Elrond is likely to know his whereabouts."

"Adar-nîn!" Legolas tried to look solemn, but he could not hide the gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"My Lord and my Father, allow me to take this message. You know that I am familiar with the way and that I can reach Rivendell more swiftly than any other rider you might choose."

Thranduil considered. Surely this would be one of the least perilous of the tasks that Legolas might try to lay claim to. A journey to Rivendell and back as a messenger—and he would insist that Legolas accept an escort of several warriors. Yes, this would be far preferable than allowing Legolas to lead a patrol to the south of Mirkwood, as he had been begging. Thranduil carefully hid his relief. It wouldn't do to let Legolas know that he was permitting him to go in order to keep him out of trouble.

"Very well, ion-nîn. You will carry this message to the Lord Elrond."

Legolas arose hastily, as if afraid that his father would change his mind. "Adar-nîn, may I be permitted to leave the hall before you in order to prepare for this journey?"

Thranduil sighed, reluctantly inclining his head and gesturing his son's and his nephew's dismissal. Then, after Legolas and Tawarmaenas had exited the dining hall, Thranduil thought of another reason why it would be good for his son to journey to Imladris. "It is certain," he said to Gilglîr, "that once my son arrives at Rivendell he will not want to immediately return to Mirkwood. Much as I will miss him, perhaps that would be for the best, for he would be far from all the dangers of this kingdom. Gilglîr, you will draft a letter to Elrond giving my permission for Legolas to remain away as long as it shall please either Elrond or Legolas. Mayhap if Legolas can spend time in the company of one of Elrond's sons, he will be too occupied to yearn for greater adventure. There is that Estel, now, isn't there? He gets along quite well with him, doesn't he?"

"You mean Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"

"Oh, is that what they call him now. No one ever seems to keep the same name, eh, Gilglîr." Gilglîr joined Thranduil in laughing at a very private joke.

The next morning Thranduil, Gilglîr, and Tawarmaenas stood outside the Hall to bid Legolas and his escort farewell.

"Ion-nîn."

"Yes, Adar-nîn."

"At Rivendell you will be the representative of this realm, and you will comport yourself accordingly."

"Of, course, Adar-nîn."

"I see that you are wearing one of your better robes." 

"Yes, Ada."

"And you have packed your diadem?"

Legolas flushed and acknowledged that he had not.

"Legolas, you may be sure that Elrond will be wearing _his_."

"Ada, Elrond is at least two-thousand years older than I am."

"You are suggesting that he is old? He is, as you know, my contemporary."

Legolas flushed an even deeper red, but then he spotted Gilglîr winking at him. Legolas occasionally still had trouble reading his Adar's moods.

Bowing farewell to his father, Legolas turned to walk toward his waiting mount. He had almost reached the horse when Thranduil called him back. Puzzled, Legolas returned to stand before his father. Thranduil flung his arms around his son and squeezed.

"Ada! I am too old for this," Legolas whispered, his cheeks now a deep scarlet.

"Is that so?" Thranduil teased. "But you are not too old to have a stuffed horse hidden under the leggings in your wardrobe. I noticed that it was very well worn, as if it has seen much use."

"Ada, what were you doing in my wardrobe?" Legolas demanded in mock indignation.

"I was looking for several of my books, which were also under the leggings in your wardrobe. Why is it, ion-nîn, that you persist in storing books in such a peculiar place? If you wish for some shelves in your room, you have only to ask."

"Oh, it is an old habit, Ada. I will explain some time."

The good-natured chaffing over, Legolas now found himself reluctant to leave. But at last he nodded abruptly to his father and to Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas.  Once again he strode toward his horse. He stood by his mount for a moment glancing back at his father, then suddenly vaulted into the saddle, reined the horse about, and galloped away from the Hall. 

Thranduil watched his departing son until he was hidden by the forest. "At least this time I will know where he is," he sighed. "Legolas will not be wandering through distant lands, his fate known only to the Valar. And he will be in the company of the Wise, for I have no doubt that Elrond will send for Mithrandir once he hears of the escape of the creature Gollum. Yes, I believe I need have no fear for my son."

Gilglîr nodded his agreement. "Yes, Thranduil. Legolas will acquit himself honorably on this journey, and it is to be hoped that he will be satisfied with the adventure to boot. Come. Let us share a bottle of wine in celebration of this day. I believe that your butler Galion has recently received a shipment of Dorwinion wine—that would do nicely, would it not?" 

"Yes, a raft bearing such a cargo has put in from Esgaroth—and it to be hoped that Galion hasn't tossed out the wine-laden barrels the way he tossed out those Dwarf-laden ones. Do you remember that incident?"

Gilglîr laughed. "Ai! That was a parlous day for me. You were so furious that I didn't dare laugh, but I came near choking instead, so hard was it for me to restrain myself."

"I had no idea that you found the escape of the Naugrim to be an occasion for such mirth," smiled Thranduil. "But let us look up Galion—woe betide him if he is sleeping again! You and I will indulge ourselves with some of that wine. Then, if Galion discards the rest, we will have saved one bottle."

"Aye," grinned Gilglîr, "one bottle at the very least!" The Seneschal bowed with exaggerated deference and added, "If I may be permitted, I will propose the first toast: to the coming of age of Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood!"

"Yes," chortled Thranduil, giving way to rather unkingly glee. "Prince of Mirkwood, but a Prince who shall be safely away from the perils of this realm for the next several months!"

With that happy thought, King and Seneschal went in search of their wine.

Vocabulary

A—'O', _Quenya_, as in 'A Elbereth!"

Ai!—'Alas!', _Quenya_

Adar, Ada—'Father', 'Dad', _Sindarin_

alph—'swan', _Sindarin_

amlug—'dragon', _Sindarin_

Amlugthul—'Dragon-breath', _Sindarin_

amras—'deer', _Sindarin_

annabon—'oliphaunt' (i.e., elephant), S_indarin_

Anomen—'No Name' or 'Nameless', _Mannish_ (_Greek _an- 'no' _Latin _nomen 'name')

Arwen—'Royal Maiden', _Sindarin_

Athelas—'kingsfoil' (lit. 'beneficial [or helpful] leaf), _Quenya_ and _Sindarin_ elements (cf. –las of Legolas)

Beren—'Daring', _Sindarin_

brôg—'bear', _Sindarin_

cabor—'frog', _Sindarin_

Caras Galadhon—'City of Trees', _Sindarin_, from _Silvan_

Celeborn—'Silver Tree' or 'White Tree', _Sindarin_

corch—'crow', _Sindarin_

Corchlîr—'Crow-song', _Sindarin_

crebain—'crows', _Sindarin_

cugu—'dove', _Sindarin_

Dol Guldur—'Hill of Dark Magic', _Sindarin_

draug—'wolf', _Sindarin_

dúlin—'nightingale', _Sindarin_

Dunland, Dunlendings—'Land of Shadow [or Darkness]', 'People of the Land of Shadow [or Darkness]', anglicized _Rohirric _or _Sindarin_

Edwen Nana—'Second Mama', _Sindarin_

eirien—'day-maiden' (i.e., daisy), _Sindarin_

elanor—flower with gold and silver blossoms (analogous to a pimpernel [member of the primrose family]), _Sindarin_

Elbereth— 'Star Queen' (Varda, Queen of the Valar [the Exalted Ones, _Quenya_]), _Sindarin_

Elda, Eldar—'Person of the Stars', 'People of the Stars', (i.e., Elf, Elves), _Quenya_

Elladan—'Elf Man', _Sindarin_

Elrohir—'Elf Horse-lord', _Sindarin_ (cf. Rohir- of Rohirrim)

Elrond—'Vault of Heaven', _Sindarin_

Enyd—'Ents' (tree-herders), _Sindarin_

Ernil, Ernil-neth—"Prince', 'Young Prince', _Sindarin_

Esgaroth—'Laketown', _Sindarin_

Estel—'Hope', _Quenya_

Fangorn—'Treebeard', _Sindarin_

Galadhrim—'Tree People', _Sindarin_

Galadriel—'Tree Maiden Crowned with Glory', _Quenyan _and_ Sindarin _elements

Gil-galad—'Star of Radiance' (last High King of the Noldor), _Sindarin_

Gilglîr—'Star-song', _Sindarin_

Glorfindel—'Golden Hair', _Sindarin_

Gûr-norn—'Hard-heart[ed]', _Sindarin_

gwael—'gull', _Sindarin_

Haldir—'Nobleman', _Sindarin_

Haradrim—'People of the South', (i.e., Southrons), _Sindarin_

heledir—'kingfisher', _Sindarin_

hên-elleth—'child-maid' (i.e., 'nursemaid'), _Sindarin_

hû—'dog', _Sindarin_

Idril Celebrindal—Idril: 'Heart of Brilliance', _Sindarin _adaptation of _Quenya_; Celebrindal: 'Silverfoot', _Sindarin_

Im gwennin le—'I am indebted [or obliged] to you', (lit. 'I am bound to you', past tense of gwedhi), _Sindarin_

Imladris—'Deep Vale' (i.e., Rivendell), _Sindarin_

ion-nîn—'my son', _Sindarin_

Isengard—'Iron Court', _Rohirric _(_Old English_ isen, 'iron' geard, 'yard')

Isildur—Moon Mate, _Sindarin_

Istar, Istari—'wizard', 'wizards', _Quenya_

laiqua—'green', _Quenya_

Laiqualass

—'Greenleaf', _Quenya_

Laiquendi—'Green-Elf', (i.e., Silvan Elf), _Quenya_

Laurëlassë—'Goldenleaf', _Quenya_

Le or ennas—'You over there', _Sindarin_

Legolas—'Greenleaf', _Sindarin_

lembas—'waybread', _Sindarin_

Law no le mae!—'You are not well!', _Sindarin_

limlug—'serpent', _Sindarin_

Lothlórien (also Lórien)—'Golden Flowering Dream Valley,' _Quenya _and _Sindarin_ (Lórien: _Sindarin_ from _Silvan_)

Lúthien Tinúviel — Lúthien: 'Daughter of Enchantment', _Sindarin_; Tinúviel: 'Sparkling Daughter of Twilight (i.e., 'nightingale'), _Sindarin_

mae govannen—'well met', _Sindarin_

mallos—'flower of gold', _Sindarin_

mellon, mellon-nîn—'friend', 'my friend', _Sindarin_

Mithrandir—'Grey Wanderer' or 'Grey Pilgrim', _Sindarin_

Ná Elda—'I am an elf', _Quenya_

Naneth, Nana—'Mother', 'Mama', _Sindarin_

Naugrim—'dwarves', _Sindarin_

nínim—'white tear' (i.e., snowdrop), _Sindarin_

Noldo—singular of Noldor, 'the Wise [Elves]', _Quenya_

Onod, Onodrim—'Ent', 'Ents', _Sindarin_ (_Quenya_ influenced)

Orc—'goblin' (lit. 'foul') _Sindarin _(from _Quenya_ Orch) but _Rohirric _spelling 

Orthanc—'Forked Height', _Sindarin_ (but also 'Mount Fang' in _Common Speech_ and 'Cunning Mind' in _Rohirric _[_Old English _orðanc_,_ 'cleverness' or 'skill'])

pen-neth—'young one', _Sindarin_

Periannath—'Hobbits', _Sindarin_

Quenya—'ancient tongue' (i.e., Eldarin or High-Elven), _Quenya_

raw—'lion', _Sindarin_

roch—'horse', _Sindarin_

Rohirrim—Men of Rohan (lit. 'Men of the Horse-Masters'), _Sindarin_

rusc—'fox', _Sindarin_

ryn—'hound', _Sindarin_

Ryncarag—'Hound-tooth', _Sindarin_

Saruman—'Man of Craft', _Mannish_ (_Old English_ searu, 'cleverness' or 'cunning')

Silvan Elves—Elves who refused to cross the Misty Mountains on the westward journey from Cuiviénen (the 'Water of Awakening'). See also Laiquendi.

Sindarin—'Tongue of the Grey [Elves]', _Quenya_

Southrons— 'Men of the South', anglicized _Common Speech_ (see Haradrim)

tuilinn—'swallow', _Sindarin_

talan—'floor' or 'tree platform', _Quenya_

Tathar—'Willow', _Sindarin_

tavor—'woodpecker', _Sindarin_

thoron—'eagle', _Sindarin_

Thranduil—'Slender Sprout', _Sindarin_

Thranduilion—'son of Thranduil', _Sindarin_

Tuor—'Hero', (lit. 'Quick [or Ready] Strength'), _Sindarin_

Ungolhen—'Spider-eye', _Sindarin_

Valar—'Powers', _Quenya_

Wargs—'wolves', _Common Speech_ (_Old English_ wearg, 'outlaw' or 'wicked')

Westron—Common Speech, the language of the Men of the West (e.g., of the Dúnedain), 

westu hal—'be well', _Rohirric_ (_Old English_ 'be you whole')

yondo-nya, yonya—'my son'(formal), 'my son' (familiar), _Quenya_

Sources for Middle Earth Vocabulary and Grammar

Derdzinski, Ryszard. Fellowship of the Word-Smiths. Retrieved May 12, 2003, from .

Fauskanger, Helge Kaare. Ardalambion. Retrieved May 12, 2003, from .

Ireland, Robert. A Tolkien Dictionary: Taken from the Indexes of The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion. 2002. Retrieved May 12, 2003, from .

Willis, Didier. The Sindarin Dictionary Project. Retrieved May 12, 2003, from .


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